


The Happiness of Flowers

by AgapeErosPhilia (AttilaTheHun)



Series: Cullen and Cassandra Chronicles [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Pining, Romance, Romantic Gestures, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 75,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttilaTheHun/pseuds/AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Inquisition's victory, Skyhold is peaceful for all but its Commander. Solas has returned to his lover's side, and Cullen is tired and broken, watching the magic he will never touch. When Ellana sends him to Ferelden on a new mission, will it be the end? Or a beginning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Inquisitor

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed work I've already posted on FF, but as it's my favorite thing I've written I decided to post it here, as well. If you like it or if you hate it, let me know! Or, just enjoy the story of these lovely, beautiful dorks.

"Are you unhappy at Skyhold?"

Cullen looked up from his desk to see Ellana Lavellan framed in the doorway. He searched her face for signs of a joke, rare as it would be from her, but it was serious and thoughtful as always. Since Solas had returned she'd regained her capacity for joy, but humor had never been an arrow in her considerable quiver of talents. Cullen had imagined dozens of conversations with her, and in them he always asked if her earnestness was a remnant of her Dalish upbringing, a consequence of the mark, or simply the nature she'd been born to. She was always so pensive.

It was appealing, that small silence she carried around inside of her like a secret. He'd wanted to know about that more than anything.

Now, of course, he was glad he hadn't learned. Ellana turned towards her old lover like a blossom to the sun, and Cullen's cowardice in his absence had served a purpose after all. She knew nothing of his feelings. The Maker answered prayers in the strangest ways.

Her brow creased, and he realized she was waiting for him to respond. "We do important work, Inquisitor," he said. "Thedas is all the better for your efforts. I'm pleased and proud to be a part of it."

"Which is no answer, Commander," she said pointedly.

"I'm not unhappy."

"But not happy. It's been noticed."

What did she want him to say? That Skyhold was frantic and loud to his ears? That she'd taken the last quiet space away with her to share with someone else? That he'd taken to asking Dorian to play chess every other day, just because it gave him an excuse to walk through the room of colors where she sat so often, just to nod to her in passing?

Or maybe the harder truth. Ellana was simply another in a line of mages he'd loved in loneliness. Solona. Hawke. They all housed a power that called out to him all the more strongly because it was forbidden. Maybe all Templars felt it. Maybe it was the lyrium. Maybe it was their training. He'd never asked. If he was normal, then the Templars were flawed. If not, then he was flawed. Either way, he'd never given in. Sufficient strength could overcome any weakness. Even if it burned.

"I'm sorry if my work hasn't been satisfactory," he said instead.

She crossed her arms. "Your work is, as always, exemplary. This isn't about your work," she said. "It's about you. Personally. Are you having lyrium cravings again?"

He'd tensed at the word 'personal' but relaxed again when the question was one he could answer with an easy heart. "No. The days are not without pain, and the nights no less full of memory, but I'm strong enough to handle them. And the physical effects are nearly gone."

There was no softening of her face, no look of relief. She studied him with her pale eyes, and he understood with a pang that she didn't believe him. She didn't trust him not to lie to her. Had they really drifted so far? "I swear it, Inquisitor. As your Commander," he said.

She nodded once, reluctantly. A messenger pushed past her with a hurried apology and handed Cullen several reports that smelled of raven. More missives from Leliana, of course. New ground explored. More troop decisions to make. Fewer people to trust. Just once he'd like it if she sent him a report that said all of Thedas was taking a week off of fighting. It seemed very unfair that the better he did his job, the more they spread their influence and peace across the land, the more reports he got about future fights.

When he'd handed over his own messages for delivery and turned back to his guest, he saw her examining his low table in the corner. It was nominally for casual meals, but in practice it was a repository for the random detritus of any military commander, particularly those communications with less than urgent status. As she examined it, a light smiled played across her mouth. Small drops of aching, like acid, scored his heart as he watched her. She laughed softly, oblivious.

He almost asked her what was so amusing when she volunteered it herself. "Where did the flowers come from?" she asked, gesturing to the one splash of color in his otherwise very functional office.

"One of my new lieutenants brings cuttings up from the Chantry garden every once in a while, when they can be spared. It's good to have a touch of nature around the place," he said.

"I'd think you'd be tired of being surrounded by nature, with that roof you still won't let us fix."

He smiled for the first time. "That's not nature, just the elements," he said. He would never say it aloud, but he needed the broken roof to remind him of his duties and his goals. The dangers of the storms and the dreams of the stars. "Nature isn't simply the outdoors. Ser Orvin understands it well. Plus he's Fereldan, and we both miss the place. It had the right kind of nature. Clean and simple. Nothing like this. Or the Arbor Wilds, which I will thank you never to take us to again."

Ellana didn't look at him as she touched the petals with her finger in meditation. He shivered. She seemed to reach the end of her thoughts and turned to him with a new purpose. "I've intruded on you for too long. I'll take your assurances that you're okay, for now, but please come to me if that changes. Promise me, Cullen."

Her use of his name was more commanding than her words. "I promise, Ellana."

* * *

Two weeks later Ellana attended his morning command briefing, as she sometimes did. His captains were there, of course, as were the more military-minded Inquisition members who didn't quite fall under the umbrella of armed forces. Iron Bull attended in his role of mercenary liaison, Vivienne as the Circle and the Chantry's spokeswoman, Blackwall as the Warden's representative and Cassandra stood in for the new Templar Order. The Inquisitor ran them all, in one way or another, and could have dictated to them as she pleased, but in these meetings she tended to watch from the corner and absorb rather than contribute any of her own thoughts. The military ran to her through him, and she took care not to undermine it.

The business was routine, the meeting uneventful, and he breathed a sigh of relief that there were no new problems to chase down. Even the mercenaries were happy with their pay, which Iron Bull assured him never happened. He was about to dismiss them when Ellana spoke from behind him. "Commander, one last order of business."

Cullen turned around, a little surprised, but nodded. She stepped around to the foot of the table and leaned against it. "I apologize for the short notice, but we only learned of it this morning. Leliana has been looking for the whereabouts of some of the Seekers we never found, on Cassandra's behalf. We heard word of them in the south of Fereldan, and we want to make contact as soon as possible."

"Of course, Inquisitor," he said. He racked his brain, trying to remember the forces they had in the area. "I'll let you know which company I think we should divert this afternoon."

She shook her head. "I don't want that many people to go. Seekers are high-strung. Touchy," she said. She looked Cassandra, who snorted. Ellana continued with a smile, "This is a diplomatic mission, not a call to arms. Josephine agrees."

"As you wish. But our ambassador is surely more equipped than I to supply you with the resources you need?"

"Not in this case. We agreed that you and Cassandra, combined, are our best chance of a peaceful result," said Ellana. "A three week mission, one week to Fereldan and back, with a week in between to negotiate. All of my authority will go with you, and you'll be empowered to make any deal you think is appropriate to win them to our cause."

He shot a look at Cassandra, who looked surprised but didn't argue. Well, he was going to bloody well argue. "I can't be away from Skyhold that long. There are a thousand important things for a Commander to do in a day, much less three weeks," he said. He winced and looked at Cassandra again. "Not that the Seekers aren't also important."

The Seeker's face remained impassive. "I took your meaning, Commander. But I also take hers. I am an obvious choice, true, but you are no less obvious. You command power, which they will respect. The power is in your arms and your weapons, not just your title, which they will respect more. You know the Templar ways, which will make you persuasive, and yet are not one, which will keep you safe. You are no longer vulnerable to our abilities over lyrium, which would be a concern with a Templar or a mage. And we may both protect ourselves on a journey without a contingent of guards."

They were all good points, each one. And yet it felt like falling over a cliff. He looked at Ellana with what he hoped was determination instead of despair. "There must be others who could do this. My duty is here."

"Your duty is where I send you," she said, not unkindly. "There are others. I chose you. As for Skyhold, I think this will be an opportunity for me as well. I've been wanting to learn more about the intricacies of command. How better to do so than to step into your role while you're gone?"

Iron Bull coughed loudly, but not loudly enough to cover his laughter, and even Cullen's well-trained captains couldn't keep their mouths closed. Cullen didn't even try to hide his horror. "You're going to assume the role of Commander?" he asked. Ellana was smart, brave, and a superb mage and diplomat. But she could barely grasp the strategy involved in chess.

"Well, no, not really assume. More brush against. Your captains will be able to assist me most ably. They are very good at their jobs, as you yourself have told me." She held up a hand at Cullen's continued protests. "Enough. I'm the Inquisitor. This is a thing I must understand. Besides, Leliana assured me that the world of Thedas is very peaceful right now."

"You'll change that in a hurry, Boss," muttered Bull, but Ellana either didn't hear him or chose not to. Her eyes watched Cullen's face, waiting for the next argument.

Cullen didn't have one. A heavy weight settled in his stomach as he finally understood. Their conversation a few weeks ago had been a test, and he'd failed. She was preparing the way to be rid of him. If he could undertake this task and leave them all for so long without incident, then it would be the final proof that the Inquisition could manage well without an aging, burdened ex-Templar at the helm of her forces.

There was little doubt they would manage easily. But on the small chance something went wrong, she'd only sent him on a mission, not outright dismissed him. It made sense. It was actually very well thought out. Perhaps she was a better strategist than he'd allowed.

He nodded his assent, and the meeting broke up. He stood and climbed the ladder to his open room. It had been awhile since he'd done field work. He hoped he remembered how to pack.

* * *

They left at first light. He tried not to show his exhaustion as he settled the saddlebags on his mount. Cassandra, as usual, looked as fresh and alert. Cullen envied the luck that had made her a person in tune with mornings. And with animals. Her personal mount was settled and quiet, like her, while his stallion fought and twitched on the lead. He was anxious to run.

Dennet was little comfort. Cullen swore under his breath as a brown flank danced away from him again. "You wanted a charger who was ready for the fight, Commander. Torch here is just that. Can't blame a creature for his nature," the horse master said. He turned to Cassandra's dappled gray gelding. "This boy, now, he's a soft one for all he'll give you hell on the field. A nice, steady mount."

Cassandra smiled slightly and rubbed her hand over the calm horse beside her. Cullen grunted in victory as he finally got the saddlebags tied and the tack straightened. It was time to go, before the hold woke and there was too much of a fuss at their departure. He didn't want goodbyes. He'd already said them silently, releasing them into the hold under the cover of midnight.

Midnight had come and gone easily for him. Most of his exhaustion wasn't from the early morning hour, but from the late night he'd spent cleaning out his office. The piles of paper were gone, the personal items put away in the trunks ready for sending, the supplies neatly ordered and ready for the Inquisitor's successor to take over. When he'd finally fallen into dreamless sleep, the place was stark and deserted.

It had been like cleaning out his soul.

Cullen led them to the gate and prepared to mount. There was no one else around, and he was sadly proud of that. He'd just put his foot in the stirrup when a voice called out, "Cassandra! Cullen!"

His foot slowly lowered to solid ground again. The Inquisitor had come after all. She must have poured restorative magic into herself to look so cheerful, but she was smiling from ear-to-ear. Solas trailed her more soberly, and Cullen's hand closed into a loose fist. The more senior members of the Inquisition knew his ties to Corypheus, what he'd started and they'd ended. So many people had died for him, but he wasn't in a cell. Samson was, rotting and insane, but the elf that had made it all happen was alive and free.

Ellana said he was trustworthy. Leliana agreed. They surely knew better than he did, and so he followed their lead. It didn't meant he liked it. And it wasn't all because he was jealous of the easy way his hands brushed over Ellana's back.

"I wanted to say goodbye," said Ellana, "and make sure you have everything you need."

"You were very thorough," said Cassandra. "Though of course we cannot prepare for every eventuality. We will report regularly."

"Make sure you do. I want to know every detail." Ellana stepped forward suddenly and hugged Cassandra around her waist. The height difference meant the Inquisitor was mostly hugging breastplate, and the metal couldn't have been comfortable against her skin, but she didn't let go for some time. When she stepped back, she wiped away a tear. "Be careful. Your Maker watch over you."

Cassandra looked bemused but solemnly promised to try. Ellana turned to Cullen, who stepped away reflexively. He'd dreamed of her hands on him too often to want it here, in front of the others, right before he was dismissed.

Fortunately, the Inquisitor smiled again, and the tears vanished. "Don't worry, Commander. I have a different gift for you."

Solas reached around and handed her a small pouch, which she happily tossed to Cullen. He caught it adroitly and looked at it with confusion. She bounced a little on her feet. "They're bulbs from flowers native to the Frostbacks. I thought you could take them with you to your comfortable old nature. Maybe plant some new things while you're there."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that it was dangerous to plant flowers where they didn't belong. They might die, or worse they might live so well they choked away all of the existing life. From Solas's face, he knew the same thing, but Ellana looked so pleased with herself that neither of them said a word. Instead, Cullen placed the seeds carefully in one of his bags and thanked her with sincerity. "Try not to start a war," he added. He looked at Solas when he said it, and the elven man smiled tightly.

"Yes, ser," she said, saluting. She leaned back into her lover, who wrapped his arms around her. "Nothing but routine patrols for three weeks."

Cullen nodded. He wanted to say a better goodbye, but there were no words inside of him. Solas whispered something into her ear softly, intimately, and she smiled in her quiet, thrilling way. It was time to go.

Cassandra was already on her horse when he mounted, and they made for the small bridge out of the keep. They both held their hands up in a silent goodbye, but Cullen couldn't resist one last look around before they walked under the arch. Skyhold was his home. He'd thought it would be his last, but no home ever was. He turned himself forward with reluctance and fought for composure.

Just before they reached the point where the horses could open up, he felt a wave of magic crash over him. It was cool on his mind as it soothed it, and he recognized a healing spell. His exhaustion lifted. He couldn't stop the flash of joy, even with the intrusion of so much dangerous, uncomfortable magic. Ellana had seen his need and responded, one last time.

He twisted around in the saddle to wave to her and acknowledge the gift, but she wasn't at the gate. Solas was, and his power drew back into his hand with a whip-crack sound that broke Cullen's heart.


	2. The Seeker

"Shall we stop?"

Cullen jerked out of his stupor with such force that Torch whickered in protest at the tug on the reins. He colored and loosened his grip. "I'm sorry, my mind was adrift. What did you say?"

"I merely asked if you wanted to stop for the night in the next town," said Cassandra.

He looked around him for the first time in miles. The light was failing as darkness marched inexorably across the sky. Soon they would be riding nearly blind under the waning moon, a danger to their mounts and to themselves. Cullen shook his head, disgusted with himself. "Will we make it there before we lose sight?"

Cassandra looked at him curiously. "Yes. We just passed a man who said it was a five minute ride to Waylen," she said. "There's an inn there with ties to the Inquisition. It should take us in."

He wasn't sure he could get any redder as he urged Torch forward. It was one thing to drift. It was another to be so focused on the plodding of the horse, the uneven places of the road, and the thoughts that traveled alongside of him that the rest of the world vanished. Someone had been close enough to speak with them, and he hadn't noticed. He reminded himself that he wasn't traveling with a platoon of soldiers and scouts and guards. It was just the two of them. His inattention could get them killed.

Or it could make the living just as bad. When they were seated at one of the long tables in the surprisingly bustling inn, with full plates of stew in front of them, he winced as Cassandra fell on hers with the vigor of a starving prisoner. He knew they'd stopped for lunch and to water the horses, but how long ago had that been? What had they eaten? He didn't know.

And why would he? Details were for the soldiers under him, finely sieved upward until he only knew what he needed to know. He could remember company numbers and deployment schedules with ease, but he couldn't recall the color of his trousers without checking. The Commander had overwhelmed the Cullen who could see a place once and remember it forever.

Maybe he was just getting old.

"I haven't been much of a traveling companion. I'm sorry," he said. He ate some of the stew in front of him, not because he was hungry, but for something to do.

Cassandra shrugged and swallowed. "It was nice."

Nice? A ride of silence only broken to point out a treacherous spot of road, with a leader who hadn't even had the decency to ask once if she needed to stop? She seemed to read the skepticism on his face and smiled. "Truly," she said. "Skyhold is a place of power, and power never stops thrumming. The peace was restful."

The spoon in her hand dipped and bobbed as she spoke. The movement captured his eye easily, and he realized how tired he was. Magic only went so far.

He clenched his fists rapidly, trying to wake himself up. "Nevertheless, I'll do better. I don't want you to spend this trip worse off than if you were alone," he said. "And we will definitely be taking more breaks."

"On that you'll get no argument, Commander. It's been a long time since I've ridden such a distance," she said. A hint of laughter crept into her voice. "At least we're ahead of schedule."

He chuckled, but his mind was caught on a word. "Cullen, please. I'm not the Commander at the moment. I might not -" He broke off. It was hard enough to think, let alone say.

"The Inquisition would not have succeeded without you, Commander," she said with emphasis. "I chose well. Don't doubt it."

"The Inquisitor is the one who chooses now, Lady." Maker, he was tired. His eyes were heavy with sleep. He shook his head and snorted. "Maybe Solas is ready for expanded responsibilities."

Cassandra looked at him with such pity that he nearly bit his tongue in vexation. Hadn't they always interrogated sleep-deprived mages? They were so much more talkative. At least he wasn't in Skyhold any longer. At least this was Cassandra, the one he'd always trusted to guard his secrets, if he had them.

She finished her meal and pushed it aside before leveling her gaze on him. "Perhaps this trip will be good for you, no matter how unwelcome it is."

"It's not unwelcome."

"She practically threatened you at sword point to get you here. I know you don't approve of the Seekers, but they deserve a chance."

"Well, yes, but that wasn't why I didn't want… " He trailed off and rubbed his temples. Ellana needed him so little that she'd sent him away. His presence was so unimportant that it would hardly be missed. "That wasn't why."

"I know," said Cassandra. Her expression sharpened, and she spoke quickly. "This is what you need to be away to learn, to separate the job from the man. Don't confuse the Inquisitor with the Inquisition. Don't mistake the War Room for the bedroom. Being barred from one does not make you unneeded in the other."

Cullen pushed back from the table with the loud scrape of wood against wood, almost dislodging the man on the other end of the bench. He barely acknowledged the man's outraged cry. "You overstep, Seeker. My personal life is not your domain," he said.

"It is when it leaves you unable to accept a simple mission without sinking so far into melancholy that you desert your post." He protested, but she talked over it. "I saw your office. Don't lie to me."

"I've deserted nothing," he said quietly, but he was painfully aware of the half-truth. He hadn't officially been dismissed, but he knew he wasn't going back. Her eyes bored into him, and he wasn't equal to their power.

While he looked at his hands and broke under the weight of her stare, he heard her sigh. "Go to sleep. Take the bed. You need it," she said.

A good leader would argue and insist on the softest places for the men who served him. Tonight, he didn't have it in him to fight her. But what he did do, when he reached the room they'd acquired, was spread his bedroll across the floor and place the cleanest pillow with the most padding on top of it. An unspoken apology. Hopefully she would understand it. That done, he unbuckled his sword, stripped to the waist and fell into the bed gratefully, asleep before he could finish cataloguing the differences between it and the one he'd been so used to.

* * *

He woke in darkness, though the sounds of the inn around him were loud enough that it was clearly morning. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked to the window. The panes were covered with heavy fabric, blocking the light. It was a fabric he recognized as Cassandra's horse blanket. How she'd hung it without him hearing was beyond him, but she'd managed. He hadn't heard her come in at all.

After he let the blanket down, he saw his bedroll neatly tied and next to a tray with a cold breakfast on it. There would be warm food in the great room as well, but he was unusually hungry. He ate with energy as he shaved and dressed, then gathered his things. Hers were already gone, save the blanket, likely taken out at the first bird's chirp.

The window. The bedroll. The food. Three kindnesses for his morning. It was three more than he deserved.

He took the neatly folded blanket with him and headed to the stable. The boys were eager to ready two such fine horses, and he left them to their business. Cassandra wasn't in the dining area, though the owner assured him the room and board had been paid for, so that left only one place she could be. There must be a training dummy around the place somewhere.

Without much effort, he found a scrabbled patch of dirt around the back of the inn that served for weapon work. A few young men and even more women were wielding swords, axes or bows with more enthusiasm that skill. It was more than a little chaotic, and he grimaced at the accidents waiting to happen. But this was a small village. The Inquisition had a presence, but there was no training master here. He made a note to send someone along when he got back to Skyhold before he remembered that he wasn't going back.

Cassandra wasn't training as he'd expected, instead taking the time to instruct a few of the older children on basic technique. One of the girls nudged her partner in the chest, staring at Cullen, and Cassandra turned around to eye the distraction. When she saw him, color rose high in her cheeks. She told the youths to practice, then walked over with the ground-eating stride she'd perfected.

"Commander," she said when she reached him.

He was puzzled, and a little surprised, by the embarrassment on her face. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her embarrassed before, outside of Bull and Varric's lewd joke competitions.

"Cullen," he said deliberately. And a little uncharitably, if he was being honest.

She rolled her eyes, but she didn't argue with him. "I apologize for my behavior last night. You didn't ask my advice, and it was not my place even if you had. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. As a friend, your advice is always welcome. And your forthrightness. I respect and depend on it," he said. "If it helps your guilt, it didn't change my mind."

A smile crossed her face, small but present, and he relaxed a little. "I would be surprised if it had. I've rarely managed to convince anyone of anything. Words are not my strength," she said. "But it was the wrong time to use the few I possess. I'm sorry."

"As am I. I reacted poorly. I was too tired to be gracious."

"I know. I used your exhaustion against you."

His face twisted, but he stopped it from becoming a scowl. "Well, the Seekers did train us well, when they took the fancy to," he said. He released the small bubble of anger to float away in the morning breeze. "Ready to go?"

"We have time," she said. He cocked an eyebrow at her when the Chantry bell chimed nine. "Some time," she amended. "The recruits would benefit from a demonstration of a true fight."

Both eyebrows raised this time. "You think I can hold my own against you? Maker, Cassandra, I haven't truly fought in… well, far too long. I'll be no fit demonstration for them."

She stepped closer to him. "These are village children. Their training consists of what they've managed to teach themselves. Dorian would look like a master swordsman to them, and he only just learned a proper guard a few months ago. You will amaze them."

"Fine," he said. He added in a low voice when she turned around, "Amaze them with how quickly I lose, perhaps."

Cassandra didn't hear him, which was just as well. She gathered the so-called recruits into a loose ring, wide enough for safety but close enough that they could see. When he drew his broadsword, he heard awed gasps, but he couldn't bear their admiration. There was nothing inside of him but a bone-deep ache. He remembered being them, a lifetime ago. The Templars had often sparred in the nearest village to the delight of impressionable youths.

Stay young, he wanted to tell them. Don't learn to fight. Learn the things that are harder than killing. There are so many more of them, and some of them will never come back.

Instead he settled into a fighting stance, and they started their warm-up. He saw their audience's private internal war out of the corner of his eye. They wanted to mimic and watch at the same time, and the struggle between the two was agony. But when she signaled an end to the warm-up and the start of a true bout, the debate ended, and they only watched.

Cullen knew Cassandra was taking it easy on him from the start. Her sword moved at a fraction less than her usual speed, and her shield blocked more gently than it did when she fought with Bull or the other Chargers. It chafed him that she would do it, and when she deliberately let him get around her guard and score a hit, he hissed, "Don't patronize me."

"You want respect, Commander? Earn it," she grunted as she danced back out of reach.

The minutes wore on and slowly the movements came back to him. The power came from his hips, not his arms. His grace started in the footwork and moved up into his hands. He saw the openings and the traps, and Cassandra started to work harder at maintaining her defense. Cullen knew the match was almost over, for time, and he let himself show a small grin of triumph at one particularly well-struck blow.

It was a mistake. Cassandra's eyes narrowed and suddenly she was flowing like water, moving in a way he barely saw and couldn't predict. He raised his blade to block, but she was too fast. Her sword was already pressed into a killing position before he finished the action.

He dropped his sword in surrender. The children around them, the ones he'd almost forgotten about, burst into a quick cheer, then quickly chattered among themselves about what they'd seen. Cullen looked at Cassandra speculatively as she sheathed her weapon. "That was new."

"Krem showed it to me. A Tevinter style of fighting. They emphasize speed. Quick movement over power. Neither of us are that good at it. But it gives us surprise. When we fight you slow and brutish Fereldans," she said in between breaths.

His weapon felt good in his hand when he picked it up and sheathed it. More familiar. He shot Cassandra a breathless grin. "But did this brute earn your respect?"

She crossed her arms. Her eyes traveled over him in appraisal, and he awaited her judgment. "You show promise," she said eventually. "With enough work, you may make a decent foot soldier. Commander."


	3. The Serving GIrl

"Do you need a healer?"

The woman who'd brought him his meal asked the question with genuine concern. Cullen flushed. It was bad enough that every muscle in his body was screaming at him without his face announcing it to the world. "No. Thank you for the concern," he said. "I'm just an old man who doesn't know his limits."

She gave him an approving glance. "You don't look old to me," she said. "You seem perfect." He felt the blush deepen and spread to the tips of his ears.

Cassandra slid into the seat across from him with a snort. "He's ancient. And he can't guard low right."

"I almost beat you this morning," he said with a superior air. He took a bite of food and pushed it across the table to her, where she plucked the bread for herself.

"Yes, very impressive, almost winning. Let me know when you've progressed to almost losing," she said. "And now you can hardly walk for the sore muscles, much less ride. Honestly it might be worth staying here rather than moving on today."

He nearly dropped his fork. Was she ill? He peered at her and saw nothing strange in her eyes, but as he watched they flicked up once to the server who still hovered over him. The fading blush came back full force, but this time it was tinged with an angry red. She was offering to delay their journey for him. To allow him sex, with a stranger. He couldn't believe she thought he'd be tempted.

"I'll be fine. The mission takes priority," he said. He looked up at the woman, who seemed disappointed. "Thank you very much for the meal, though."

"Of course," she said. "If you ever come back through, handsome, let me know."

She sashayed away, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. He only half-noticed, glaring at Cassandra instead. "That was uncalled for. I don't… That's not how I choose to behave."

"It might be good for you if you did," she said. She stole another bite of food from his plate, completely unabashed. Cullen drummed his fingers on the table. He was totally at a loss. This was the woman who beat the crudeness out of his soldiers, with sword or words?

"What happened to my life being none of your business?" he asked.

"What happened to my honesty being valuable?" she countered. "It's been three days of travel. You're no better."

He jerked back, stung. "That's not true," he said. He tried a smile. "My sword work is massively improved." She sighed heavily, and he swallowed his next words against the sound.

Despite his joking, he was better. Over the last three days they'd traveled the breadth of Ferelden, and its lands, green and recovering, had lightened his heart. The people were hopeful. Like the sweetest infection in Thedas, the hope had spread to him, too. They were close to his home now, and the sight of familiar hills and trees stirred a youth in him he'd thought lost when he'd accepted the mantle of the Order. He was a child again, spinning wildly through the Maker's creation. The only differences were the size of his horse and the height of his eyes.

The world was fine and clear, he slept more deeply, and he'd even avoided the nightmares that had been nightly occurrences since he'd stopped taking the philters. He realized with sudden shock that he hadn't even thought of lyrium since that first, vague day on the road. And while, yes, the morning and evening sparring had made him sore and creaky, it was a good sore, the soothing pain of a body used well.

He leaned across the table and put certainty in his voice. "I am better."

Cassandra's eyes were sad and unyielding. "And will you return to Skyhold or continue to run like a spurned adolescent?"

The question, direct and unveiled, hit him in the gut. And yet the thought of the place wasn't quite as painful as it had been. He didn't feel that dangerous, collapsing feeling he'd held when they'd left it behind. When he'd left Ellana behind to her bliss. That held more pain, and he pushed it aside.

"She sent me home, Seeker," he said in deliberately steady tones. "I'd forgotten how pleasant Ferelden can be. I'll be happy here."

She muttered something under her breath. He caught "stubborn" and "infatuated", and he finished his ale with a hand that shook only slightly. She stood up across from him, and he followed. "Your home is Skyhold, Commander," she said. "You're the Inquisition's sword arm. Ferelden is merely the place where you were forged."

* * *

They found their first report from the headquarters at the Inquisition outpost a mile down the road. Cassandra offered him the letter, but he shook his head. He was still unsettled by her questioning and didn't want to see the familiar curls and loops of Ellana's handwriting. She shrugged and read it as they rode, finally closing it with a snap. "No news of significance," she said. "Cole acquired a cat."

"If that's the most pressing issue, I think Skyhold will stand for now," he said. He shot a sidelong glance at the Seeker. "In your letter, you didn't…"

He couldn't finish the sentence, but she understood. "No, I said nothing of your intention to waste your talents in a backwater country for the rest of your life," she said. "It's a private matter, or so you claim."

Cullen laughed, a sound without humor. "Don't spare your opinion on my behalf. I'd hate to think you wanted to make me feel better."

"You do realize that the Inquisitor will know from your uncharacteristic cleanliness that you don't intend to return?"

"She already knows. It was her goal, even if you won't admit it. But I would rather Leliana not learn the news, from you or anyone, until I'm as far away as possible."

Cassandra didn't answer, and they rode in silence for a long time. It was the same silence they'd cultivated easily between them, even on the first, foggy day, but it had grown into something sweeter in the interim. Now he was fully aware of the peace wrapping around him, no longer trapped inside his own mind. Cassandra had been right. Skyhold was always buzzing, a background sound in the mind that sapped his energy. Its absence brought a clarity he was learning to cherish.

His companion was still frustrated with him, but that somehow made the quiet even more perfect. That one burning feeling in the air was the touch of humanity that let him know he wasn't alone, even when he was apart.

He decided to make a game of sinking into Cullen Rutherford again, as though he'd never left home. He was a man who worked the land. They were riding home after a journey north. He waved to the cart men driving their families or their wares to the nearby villages. They answered with uniform enthusiasm, smiling and raising their hats and calling out the curious blend between "ho" and "hey" which was so very Fereldan. The word was the sound of his buried childhood uncovering, shifting up through the sands of time to present itself again.

After a while, he tried out the half-remembered greeting himself. The word was uncomfortable on his lips, and more than a few children giggled at his muddy accent as they passed. And then suddenly it was there, as though it had never left, and each person they encountered received an enthusiastic welcome to their stretch of road from a native son.

A sparkling laugh bubbled up around him after one particularly boisterous carter went past. The man had engaged him in a battle of booming voices that echoed in the air long after the sociable shouting had stopped. Cassandra's hands had flown to her ears, but she'd been smiling. Her irritation had left their company long ago, and he was glad she was happier.

He turned back to her with a grin that he knew threatened to split his face. "I won, don't you think?"

"Undoubtedly," said Cassandra. "Perhaps your next career should be as a town crier." Her voice was gentle and teasing, and there was no rancor in it.

"Excellent idea," he said. He cocked his head to judge the sky. "Time for a rest. There's a stream just ahead and to the left. I heard it."

"I'm amazed you could hear anything over the din of your Fereldan baying. No wonder this is the country of dogs."

He gave her a mock glare and spurred his horse ahead, determined to beat her to the tree line. She passed him easily. When she gave him an expectant look on dismount, he shrugged. "I wasn't really racing."

"Of course."

* * *

The stream turned out to be more of a creek, and Cullen sat next to the horses as they drank and watched it flow through a land that was almost unbelievably green. He closed his eyes and tried to picture it ravaged and Blighted, as he knew it had been not a decade ago. Alistair had been clear in his description of the damage on one of his royal visits to Skyhold, and Cullen didn't doubt him. Yet the land was recovered, made beautiful again, and the day was perfect.

He lay on his back and twined his hands behind his head, enjoying the touch of brightness on his face. Light poured through his Skyhold roof constantly, but it rarely reached the desk. His pale skin would be red and marked from the travel, but he didn't regret it.

A tickling came against his arm, and he twisted up to see what it was. A dandelion danced over his skin, stirred by the light wind in the air. He plucked it out of the ground without a thought. His fingers worked in ancient movements as he watched a cloud's progress against the heavens until he had a working whistle.

He brought it to his lips and blew. It made a loud, clear sound that cut through the clearing like a sword. Cassandra's gelding turned its head in mild disapproval, but continued to drink.

The horse's mistress was less forgiving. "What in the Void was that?" she asked from her place under a nearby tree. The pique in her voice was the same flavor as Ellana's when a messenger interrupted a conversation with her companions, but Cassandra's ire was considerably more intimidating. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"My whistle," he said. "Just like all the young Rutherfords used to make in the fields. We had our very own minstrel group."

"Your mother must have had the patience of a saint to listen to a whole brood of you do that."

"Oh, she always found an excuse to leave. Our audience usually consisted solely of the players." He blew another note and was rewarded with a growl. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Something that requires concentration," she said in tones that forestalled any further questions.

Ten minutes passed, and then twenty, and the horses were watered and nuzzling at the ground for food. It was time to go. He didn't move as the sun glided unerringly over the trees. There were still a few hours of good travel left. They had a mission. But this was a day from the past, made for shirking chores and swimming in the river.

Impulsively, he sat up and faced Cassandra. Her head was bent over her lap, brow furrowed. He blew a note on the dandelion stem again to make her look up. "Let's camp here tonight," he said. "Don't push on to the next town. We have time, don't we?"

"What of the mission being the highest priority?"

He was already crafting a defensive answer when her mouth twitched. A dandelion stem made a terrible projectile, but he threw it at her anyway. "It's been so long since I've slept under the stars without death pressing in around me," he said. "And no, the hole in my roof doesn't count."

She laughed, then sobered as she looked around them. "We'll need to keep a watch. The roads are safe enough, but all woods have predators, and the horses would be vulnerable."

His excitement dimmed. "Ah. Yes. Of course, I didn't think. I couldn't ask you to give up sleep on my behalf. Forgive me," he said.

"I would be pleased to donate my sleep to your cause, Commander," she said. "How much have you lost on behalf of mine?" He smiled ruefully but didn't move to unload their supplies. She sounded certain, but there was still hesitation on her face.

"What else?" he asked.

"It's foolish," she said. The grass at her feet seemed to hold a new fascination for her. He waited, silently. She sighed and spoke in a great rush. "There will be no artificial light here, and the moon is almost dark."

"That's true," he said slowly. A horrible suspicion crossed his mind. "Are you afraid of darkness?"

"No! Maker, no. Next you'll have me squealing at spiders," she said sharply. He grinned at the ludicrous image of her screaming and standing on a chair, and she scowled. She lifted her hands to reveal a thin book clasped in them. "There will be no way for me to continue reading."

So that was what required such demanding focus. "Must be a good book. What is it?"

"Varric's novel. He wrote several new chapters before we left, and he allowed me to take them. I decided to use the journey to reread the story from the beginning, but I haven't yet made much progress."

" _Hard in Hightown_?" he asked. Cullen had read that serial himself, the only Tethras story he'd cracked open. He hadn't even wanted to read that, but the dwarf had insisted he try at least one. The detective story had been Cullen's choice only because it was set in Kirkwall. He'd enjoyed it more than he'd expected, but Cassandra didn't seem the type for hard-boiled crime novels.

She wrinkled her nose. "No. That was boorish. This is _Swords and Shields_. A wonderful romance." His mouth dropped open, but she didn't notice. "I only tell you this because I'm sure you've already heard. All of Skyhold has told every joke imaginable, thanks to some large mouths."

He shook his head slowly, trying to picture Cassandra starry-eyed and dreaming of a handsome prince. Would princesses even dream of princes? It seemed they would be the reality, not the dream. He set that pondering aside for a later time. "No, I didn't know. The gossip must not reach my office. I must admit I'm surprised. A frothy romance doesn't seem like your kind of tale."

"Oh," she said, almost too softly to hear. Color spread across her cheeks, and he mentally slapped himself. She was obviously sensitive about the subject, no matter how stoic she tried to be, and he'd stepped directly on the sore place.

"Not that you shouldn't like them. I'm sure Varric writes his very well," he said desperately. The color was fading, but the hurt hadn't. That he'd put it there was the only explanation he could provide later for what he said next. "Have you finished reading the first installment yet? I'd like to try it."

"You?"

He shared the disbelief in her voice, but it was too late to go back now. "I failed to bring any entertainment, and we have a lot of journeying left. Plus, I haven't had time for reading in far too long," he said. That was all true, at least.

"If you're sure," she said hesitantly. He nodded, and she gestured to her saddlebags. He rose and removed them from the gelding, as well as his from his own charger. The bedrolls went on the ground, ready to be used later, while he tossed her own bags to her waiting hands. She rooted through one and pulled out a well-worn book.

When he'd extracted what he needed from his own belongings, he walked over and took it from her. Her face held a vulnerable expression, one he'd never seen her wear. "Please," she said, and stopped. She swallowed and continued. "Please don't make fun of it. I expect you will not like it, but please."

"I would never, Cassandra," he said. He smoothed a hand over her head for emphasis, and some of the tension left her face. He straightened and looked towards the brush. "Now, don't waste any more daylight on me when you could be spending it more enjoyably. I will be a half a mile in that direction, catching our dinner."


	4. The Maiden Fair

"Ser, may I at least have the name of my handsome rescuer?"

Cullen blinked down at the words in front of him. The rescued young lady was astonishingly composed after a night in a bandit camp with men who were, Cullen knew from experience, neither polite nor particularly hygienic. Of course, these bandits also had extremely lax security, so perhaps they were a different breed of criminal. In the space of a few pages, they'd allowed a single, lightly-armed man to not only infiltrate their hideout, which was complicated enough on its own, but also stab, slice, or otherwise incapacitate every member of their group.

Granted the man was broad-shouldered and a powerful fighter, as the story had mentioned several times. But even the most powerful man would be covered in blood and not much in the mood for coquettish flirting. That didn't seem to deter either character.

Cullen turned the page in fascination. His eyes widened as the rescuer did what, unfortunately, many men would be very in the mood for and gave the young lady much more than his name. The man was received with an enthusiasm that would have shocked her noble father. Cullen slammed the book shut against the blush rising to his cheeks. He looked around guiltily, even though there was no one there to see him.

No one except possibly Cassandra. He stared into the middle distance in horror. She'd read these passages, many times judging by the state of the book's spine. No wonder she'd looked so uncomfortable when he'd asked to read it. Maker, how was he going to look her in the eye? There was nothing for it but to stop reading and hand it back with a few words of vague but final approval. Then never speak of it again. It was time to check the snares he'd set out, anyway.

His hand stole back down to the book's cover, and he opened it to its former place. He only needed to know if the lady made it back to her family safely.

An hour later, he reached the end of the volume and growled. A cliffhanger. Of course. It was Varric's stock in trade. That and complicated plots. In this one, despite his hidden ardor, the gallant and impossibly talented hero had left the city to nurse his wounds after his love had announced her betrothal to another. Given some of the earlier interludes, the man's methods of pain management would be considerably more athletic than most.

He and the young lady certainly hadn't been shy with each other. Just the memory of the words on the page were enough to bring the blood to Cullen's face again. And a few other places. Varric certainly had a talent for describing a scene, and Cullen's pants had been verging on uncomfortable more than once. He didn't consider himself inexperienced, exactly, but his experience hadn't taken him to these waters. The dwarf must have led an interesting life.

And it had been some time for him, Cullen had to admit. Leading the Inquisition hadn't offered many opportunities for casual entanglements, even if he'd been able to summon up the will to take them with Ellana so close, pressing around his heart.

He remembered the eyes of the woman at the eating house, how they'd played over him. It had been invitation and promise, and there had been one small moment where he'd felt like the man in the book, hungry and insatiable. In the small places of his mind he allowed that he might have been tempted to stay, in another time. He'd been away from Ellana's eyes, where she would never know his all-too-human weakness. If only Cassandra hadn't tried to give him permission, subtly reminding him that he needed it. That they had a duty. She always made his choices so clear, even clearer than they were to himself.

Unbidden, the Seeker's eyes replaced the stranger's in his vision. Not running over him, but over the book he still held loosely in his hand. Had they darkened at its descriptions? Was this what she liked about the story? Had she felt the same pull in her gut, the distant longing for release that he had? He could almost see her, her fingers touching her lips as they so often did when she was lost in thought.

They'd shared the words in their hands, so they must have shared the experience in their minds, separated by time. It was an oddly intimate thought, and he fluttered his fingers over the cover in an unconscious caress.

A horse whickered in the distance, and he snapped back to himself. The heat spreading through him was overwhelming. What was he thinking? Cassandra didn't deserve to be the object of his wonderings. She certainly wasn't an outlet for his own frustrated needs, even if he only released them in his mind. She'd been a good friend to him, an even better comrade, and she would be appalled at his musings. Rightfully. It was bad enough that he'd yielded to his baser mind with Ellana, a woman he loved. This was unforgivable.

He stood quickly and brushed himself off, being careful to avoid his groin. He tucked the book into his satchel and went to check the traps.

* * *

When he returned with the rabbits he'd managed to snare, there was a fire burning in the fading light, and the horses were tied more securely to the trees. Cassandra must have moved at some point, but there was no evidence of it from her posture. She sat cross-legged under the same tree and squinted against the dimness into the book she held. Her face was clearly visible, bathed in the remaining daylight. In it, he found the answers to the questions he never should have asked. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes were smoky, and she breathed in shallowly and much too quickly.

Apparently Varric hadn't lost his touch.

He clenched his free hand hard enough to leave a mark and cleared his throat. Cassandra jumped and rose to her feet in one smooth motion, her hand going to her sword belt. When she realized what she'd done, she relaxed and shook her head. "Don't do that," she said. "Don't sneak up on me."

"I made enough noise for an entire squad," he said, though he knew he hadn't. Stealth was a hard habit to break. "You were very intent. Good reading?"

She stooped to collect the book from the grass where it had fallen and muttered a yes. He prayed she'd heard only teasing in his voice instead of the delicate tension that had slipped through.

She looked up at the sky suddenly, then turned back to him. "You were gone for quite some time, Commander."

"Cullen," he said. "You've known me for years. And yes. You didn't even look for me. I might have been dying in the woods, all alone."

"If you were in trouble, I would have heard the pathetic and terrified screaming," she said. She smiled to soften it, but he held his hand to his heart in pain anyway.

When he held up his catch, already skinned and bled, she moved closer to the fire and began assembling a makeshift spit for roasting. She did it surprisingly well for a woman raised royally. Her hand stretched out for the rabbits with such familiar command that he relaxed. It was easier to ignore lingering, unseemly interests when she was behaving exactly as she always did.

She looked up at him after she was done. "It took you so long to catch these?"

"No," he said. He sat down and wiped his hand on the grass, then pulled the book out of his bag. "I was reading."

Uncertainty flashed across her face. She twisted her ring around her finger. "Was it as you expected?" she asked.

"Exactly as I expected," he said. Her face fell into resigned acceptance, and he fought to school his own into a serious expression. Cassandra was so rarely at a disadvantage. He wanted to let her twist a little. She was clearly waiting for a round of jokes.

But then he remembered how vulnerable she'd looked, and how much she trusted in his kindness. He couldn't be so cruel. "Varric is just as good of a writer as I believed. Do you happen to have the second volume?"

Cassandra's mouth fell open. "You mean you enjoyed it?"

"Hm. Perhaps not that far. But it was compelling. And he ended it on that bloody cliffhanger," he added sourly.

"Oh yes, when Rolan leaves the city! So cruel, though of course he doesn't realize Genevieve's true, romantic feelings," said Cassandra. "But no, I won't speak of it. You should have the pleasure of the story without foreknowledge."

She leapt to her feet and snatched the book out of his hands. The meal was forgotten while she rummaged through her bag, and he turned the spit until she turned back with another, thinner volume. "Not as much happens in this one, but it's still very good. It's emotionally very satisfying."

Was that code for fewer sex scenes? He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. "It's a little dark now for reading," he said. "Put it in my bag for tomorrow."

She complied, but not without giving him the look of a soldier who'd been asked to take on a dragon singlehandedly. "Don't you need to know what happens next?" she asked.

"Another day of waiting won't hurt," he said, just to see how she would react. He grinned when she gasped. Mentally, he reminded himself to wake up early and read the first few pages.

The rabbits finished cooking, and she brought out some of the dried food they carried with them to go along with it. He'd counted to ten as he chewed before she asked, "So what was your favorite part?"

"I couldn't really say. Why don't you tell me yours?"

It soon became clear that she had many favorite parts. Her recitation of the first book, minus the awkward parts, plus the diversions into characters and places and events he couldn't even begin to follow, carried them through the meal and into full dark. He didn't contribute much, mostly nods and murmurs of agreement or outrage as needed, but he listened in growing absorption as her words tumbled out. The story was real to her, as real as anything in Thedas, and her fervor for it was undeniable. The villains were dastardly, the heroine was radiant, and the hero was a blazing fury writ large across the world.

When was the last time he'd felt that way about anything? Had he ever been that impassioned? Solona had been a quiet desperation, Hawke a headlong rush into the darkness, and Ellana a sweet ache against his soul. They were familiar and ashen handprints on his heart. None of them had lived in him like Cassandra carried these people who'd never existed. When he'd joined the Templars, that was the last time he'd felt anything remotely like fire inside himself, and they'd banked that for him long ago. His existence was colorless and monotone. Maybe it always had been.

When Cassandra ran out of words, or possibly air, he finally spoke. "I can see why you love the story. It seems full of life."

"Oh yes. And love, and belief, and adventure. And true romance. It's perfect," she said. "You will see."

"I look forward to it." A question struck him, and he said without thinking, "I always thought you avoided relationships because you weren't interested in love. But that's obviously not true. Why do you only read about it? There are surely men, or women, who could provide you the reality."

Her face was hard to read across the fire, but what he could see was suddenly stony. Cullen sighed. What was wrong with him today? "I'm sorry, that was very personal. You don't have to answer."

"I'm not offended," she said in tones that screamed diplomacy. She fell silent, and he was about to excuse himself when she spoke again. "It's simpler to dream the perfect fantasy than risk the painful reality. Wouldn't you agree?"

He grimaced as he thought of the long years of silent, steady devotion he'd never dared show, even when it was easy. Certainly not when it was hard. Two years with Ellana, waiting, and he'd never spoken a single word. What if he had? Would the woman in his mind, the one he loved, have survived it?

None of the mages he'd followed had been created out of the void by an author, but how real had they truly been, in the end? He'd kept them, and his love, perfect in his mind just as surely as if they'd never existed. Simpler indeed. "I see what you mean," he said.

She rose and stretched. "It's too dark for weapons," she said, with a welcome change in subject. She looked around. "I'll take first watch. I'm not tired."

"You're better in the mornings than I am," he pointed out.

"That's true. But if you take first watch, you won't be able to read the next part of _Swords and Shields_ as the sun comes up," she said knowingly.

He laughed. The fire was already lowering, but he banked it further before taking a position near the trees. The last thing he remembered before he slept was watching Cassandra walk a precise perimeter that no lone hero would ever be able to penetrate.

* * *

Despite the sleep he'd lost, Cullen was more revitalized than ever the next morning. Sparring went well, the remnants of dinner were delicious, and even the overcast sky couldn't dim his mood. It had still been bright enough for him to find out that Rolan and his lady hadn't yet given up on love.

Cassandra was less enthusiastic to face the day. He felt a little guilty at the pleasure he took in seeing her finally grumpy in the morning, especially since he'd been the one to cause it. She'd slept poorly as well, tossing and turning under his eye, which he was sure didn't help. He resolved to insist that she take the bed at the next inn, no matter how much she objected.

He also resolved to give her space, as it was obvious she had no intention of talking to him. After they washed in the creek, he rode slightly ahead of her, only slowing if she specifically called to him, and gradually her thunderous mood abated under the intermittent rain. At lunch her face was almost neutral, and he was heartened by the fact that she'd stopped slapping her reins into her open palm by the time they reached their rest for the night.

It was a nicer place than they usually slept, and Cassandra balked at the extra expense, but he knew the innkeeper was in Leliana's employ and was happy to give her custom. He couldn't explain that to the Seeker, though, who'd been barred from any unnecessary knowledge of clandestine activities after her bluntness had threatened too many of the Nightingale's operations. Cassandra's natural stubbornness was only enhanced by her still raw mood and the light drizzle that had followed them, and the discussion was longer than it had any right to be.

And so it was, while they were arguing heatedly on the way into town, that he missed a dog lounging in his path. By the time he tried to steer around it, it was snarling and Torch was rearing. Without fanfare, the former Commander of the Inquisition fell off of his horse.


	5. The Child

"Are you dying?"

A young voice was speaking over his head, a head that felt as though a giant stood on it. He opened his eyes. The voice belonged to a child of indeterminate gender with an upside-down face that was practically touching his. From what he could tell, it looked more curious than concerned. Cullen wet his lips to speak. The child slopped some water over his mouth, and he almost choked instead.

He swallowed as best he could and tried again. "Where's Cassandra?"

"That scary lady who was with you went to get the healer, but he isn't at his house because if he was there then she would be here." Cullen tried to wrap his aching head around the sentence and gave up. The child continued matter-of-factly, "She gave me some money to watch you, and she said she'll give me more when she gets back, but I don't think she will if you die. I thought you would. You were breathing funny. But you seem okay now."

Before he could answer, there was a clattering sound as Torch approached. "That's my pop," said the child. "He went and got your horse. It's really fast."

"Thank you," he said. Sitting up was still a distant dream, so he closed his eyes and tried to assess himself. Nothing felt broken, just aching and pounded flat. The armor had helped, though he seemed to no longer be wearing his chest plate, but falling five feet was never pleasant. His bones didn't bend the same way they had when he was younger.

"My dog is okay," said the child. Cullen bit back a response and searched for order inside of his own chaos. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a minute, the world would settle into a familiar shape.

"Don't let him sleep!" someone commanded. A small hand slapped him on the face, and then the world was full of shapes, shining and wheeling ones, bright behind his eyes. He whimpered, then sighed gratefully as a spell wrapped around his throbbing mind.

He tried to look at his surroundings again when his head lifted off of the ground. He expected to see a strange mage, or the child again, but it was Cassandra's worried face filling his vision. Her fingers ran through his hair in time with the waves of magic bolstering him, and he felt coherent enough for a joke. "I didn't know you'd picked up magic on the side," he croaked.

She didn't smile. "That's the healer. Are you okay? Can you move?"

"He shouldn't move," said an unfamiliar male voice.

"Don't move!" said Cassandra, glaring at Cullen as if he'd been the one to suggest it. Her hand tightened on his scalp, holding him in place.

Even if he'd felt inclined to sit up, he wouldn't have dared defy her. At least his mind felt blessedly clear. "Cassandra, you've seen me with dozens of nearly fatal wounds, sometimes several at the same time. I survived those. I just fell off of a horse. I'll be fine."

"You wouldn't wake up. You weren't breathing," she said. He heard echoes of panic in her voice, muted and distant but still there. She'd been truly frightened. The image of her motionless and still on the ground floated up from the depths of his nightmares, and guilt came with it. He tried to grasp her free hand in apology, but she only growled at the movement.

"He hit his head. He had the wind knocked out of him," said the male voice again. "Nothing broken or twisted that I can sense. I took care of the concussion. He'll be sore and bruised, but a healing potion will ease that. You can sit up," he said to Cullen.

He complied with a low groan. His back protested the movement, but he worked into a small stretch and it felt better. The healer was sitting on his other side and nodded approvingly. "Yes, that will help. Don't let your muscles stay still for too long. Tomorrow morning will be the worst. Heat's also good." A tingle of fire ran up Cullen's spine. "That will last you for a bit."

The healer stopped suddenly, then looked at Cassandra. "You didn't tell me he was a Templar," he said with a hint of fear.

"He's not," she said.

Cullen studied the healer more carefully. He was younger than Cullen had expected based on his authoritative voice. Just old enough to have been Harrowed before the war. The man wore clothing that could have once been Circle robes, repurposed out of need. He also had the careful control of his spells that indicated training under learned masters. And, above all, he spoke with the swirling accent of someone who'd been raised surrounded by people from everywhere and nowhere.

Mages were allowed to live outside of Circles now, by Ellana's decree, but they had to be registered and known. Not all mages had offered that much trust, and the Inquisition was politely looking the other way while the rifts between the two sides healed. This man was obviously one of the untrusting kind.

"He is a Templar," the man said. "I can tell. He's had lyrium inside of him."

"Had. No more. You can feel that, too, surely," said Cassandra.

The mage nodded but didn't look reassured. Cullen wasn't surprised. The Templars without their lyrium had often been the cruelest to mages during the war. He made up his mind and reached for his coin purse. He handed the man enough to cover a healing in Denerim, which was considerably more than he would earn in a small village such as this. The man looked at him suspiciously. Cullen kept a level gaze. "For the healing. And whatever the Order did to cause your fear."

The healer stood and stared at him in confusion. He seemed to decide something and reached into his side pouch. A bottle came out, blue and cool in his hand. Chantry-bottled lyrium. "I found this," he said. Cassandra snorted, and the man glared. "I did. You should have it. You need it more than I do."

He tossed it to Cullen before he could protest. It landed with a smooth slap in his palm. Cassandra's hand, now on his shoulder, tightened painfully, and she made a noise in the back of her throat. Cullen only half-heard her. He stared at the bottle, trying to remember what it had felt like to need it. Oh, the tug of desire was still there, as it always would be. The memory of its enchanting power in his veins followed him everywhere he went. But that was just want. The need had crept out of his life so quietly that he hadn't even noticed when it was gone.

Cullen shook his head and stood with only a small wince. He handed the bottle back without a single tremor of his hand. "No, I don't. Thank you, serah," he said. He fought back tears that would only confuse the man, but held up a hand when he turned to leave. "You should register with the new Circles. The Inquisition isn't the same as the Towers were. It won't fail you."

The mage smiled back. "Maybe I will. You never know. The Inquisition does seem like it will be hard to resist in the end. Especially if she's part of it," he added, nodding to Cassandra with a laugh that lit his face. "She damn near broke my arm getting me here. Very powerful. I was going to ask you to dinner, Lady, but I think I'll be safer alone. Travel well."

Cassandra sputtered as he walked away. "Me, to dinner? He's half my age. At most!"

"Hardly. But maturity and experience are very stimulating to a young man," said Cullen sagely. He cried out when she punched him. "Hey! I'm injured."

"You! Don't ever do that again," she said fiercely. She swung around in front of him. Cassandra was one of the few women he knew who was tall enough to look him in the eye without his help, and every time she did he was reminded of how much he used his height to supplement his authority. With her, he had no such advantage, and he shrank back from her fury. "Watching where your mount is going is the first thing you learn. The first thing! What were you thinking?"

"Well, I seem to remember I was being hectored at the time by a frugal Seeker," he said. He put some bite in his voice, but secretly he was glad to see her ire back. Cassandra frightened was like watching a mabari dance a minuet - distracting, dangerous, and never over too quickly. Her implacable anger at the world's failings was much more comforting.

"Don't blame me for your own inattention! And the lyrium. You just gave it back!" she said in a complete non sequitur.

He blinked. "Would you have rather I kept it?"

"Of course not. But you didn't even hesitate," she said. Her eyes searched his face. "Are you truly well?"

The cautious, fearful look was back in her eyes. He understood why. He knew he'd been a nightmare for her to handle during his withdrawal. She'd handled it as gracefully as she did everything, but Varric had told him about the strain she'd never shown her charge. Cullen smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. "I hurt like the Void, but lyrium won't do anything for that. I haven't had cravings in months, Cassandra."

"But then -" she said, then stopped. She twisted her hands together at the edge of his vision and looked a little guilty.

Comprehension dawned. "You told Ellana that I might be suffering withdrawal again," he said. She didn't react, which was acknowledgement all on its own. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why?"

"You were dimming, falling out of the world. I didn't know why. I could sense there was no lyrium in your blood, but that was all. You wouldn't talk to me about it. I thought you might open up to her," she said quietly.

A band of anger tightened his gut. She'd caused the doubts in Ellana's mind that had started all of this. He might have a job, an office, a life, if she hadn't tried to fix something that wasn't broken. He was fine. He had been fine.

Cassandra looked away. "I was worried for you," she said.

Because that was true, and because he'd given her plenty of reasons to be in the past, he made himself say, "Thank you. It was unnecessary. For the record, you're the first person I would ever go to with those kinds of concerns."

"Understood," she said.

Both of them fell into uncomfortable silence. She broke it with a brisk cough. "Can you walk? I can lead the horses to the inn." They both looked around vaguely and saw the child and its father standing behind them. "What are you still doing here?" asked Cassandra.

"Waiting for my money," said the small figure. "He didn't die."

* * *

Their fragile peace lasted all the way to the bedroom, where war shattered it once more. It was a very polite war, one that was all the more dangerous to innocent civilians for the voices that weren't raised in anger. The man who'd brought up a meal for them bowed out of the room with such speed that he almost scorched the air.

"You slept horribly. Take the bed. The floor is fine for me," said Cullen with as much reasonableness as he could muster.

"Yes, I'm exhausted, which means I will sleep anywhere. You'll be sore enough without laying on hard wood all night," she answered, with even steelier diplomacy.

"And I will be sore no matter where I sleep. The fall was my own fault. Your lack of sleep is also my fault. I don't deserve special treatment."

"I was the one whose arguing distracted you," she said, in complete defiance of her earlier stance. He rolled his eyes, but she wasn't deterred. "You wouldn't be hurt if I hadn't been so stubborn."

"I can see you've learned so much from that," he muttered.

She spun on her heels and started to spread her bedroll on the ground, but quickly stopped when he tried to lean over and stop her. "Don't!" she said. "You have to be careful."

"Then listen to me!" he said. "You'll have the bed. That's an order."

"Still giving orders? Does that mean you'll return to Skyhold at the end of this, Commander?" she asked. "I'm not under your authority, but I'll accede to your _request_ if you do the same for me."

Even exhausted she had the wherewithal to try to blackmail him with his own chivalry. He tried to summon up Iron Bull's lack of concern for manners and let he sleep wherever she wanted, but the code was too ingrained in him. He growled and looked around the room for inspiration, then really looked at the bed. He smiled. "This is a nice establishment. Larger rooms. Larger accommodations. We'll both have the bed."

Her face was furious as she stood, but she couldn't come up with a counter, and he knew he'd won. "Left or right side?" he asked smugly.

* * *

Cullen quickly realized he hadn't thought this through. He kept his shirt on for propriety, and it wasn't as though Cassandra hadn't seen him without his armor or in states of even more undress, but somehow this felt different. Forbidden. Probably because of the book in his hands, which was alternating between sweet and arousing too quickly to block. He should go to sleep. But Rolan had once again just missed the signs of his lady's affection, and Cullen had to know if he would ever catch on.

Maybe if Cassandra weren't so alert, he'd feel easier. He cast a quick look at the woman propped up next to him. "You should go to sleep," he said.

"Just a few more pages," she said. She was lying, of course. But he had no room to talk, so he didn't fight her.

At least she was a quiet reader. Beyond the page turns, and a few faint sighs of happiness, there was little to distract him. Except that she was there at all. Not only did her eyes follow the page with even more intensity than he'd imagined, but her fingers stroked the cover of the book in endless, flustering rhythm. The set of her face was neutral, and there was no color on her cheeks, but he could feel the tension in her body while she read. His own body was answering against his will, and he tried to remember that this was Cassandra. His friend. A colleague he respected enormously. Even if she was attracted to him, which she wasn't, sex wasn't an option.

She worried her lower lip as she turned a page, and he looked back to his own book hurriedly. The story would absorb him enough to divert the traitorous part of his brain.

Several pages later, his eyes almost fell out of his head. "That's not even anatomically possible," he said. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until the Seeker rolled towards him.

"What part?" she said.

He thought about lying, but she wouldn't buy it, so he slowly passed her the book. She read it without a trace of embarrassment and handed it back. "Oh yes, it is. With the right people."

Cullen wouldn't ask. He wouldn't. "Do you know that from experience?" Damn.

She didn't look at him. "I wasn't always attached to the Chantry, Commander."

Maker's breath. That was more than enough of that. The traitorous part of his brain was in full control now, and he tried to read a few more pages before snapping his book shut. "Time for sleep, for us both." Had she heard the tinge of desperation in his voice?

Apparently not. She only shook her head. "This is a good part."

"They're all good parts. Sleep," he said. She didn't comply, and he racked his mind for something to convince her. He didn't want to play the injury card, not only because it might actually worry her, but because she might insist on examining his back and that wasn't going to help. What would make her want to put down a romance novel?

He smiled. Real romance. "So," he said, "I've been thinking about what you said about the perfect fantasy versus the disappointing reality. That sounded like experience as well. Who is it?"

It definitely got her attention. She put her book down with all of the embarrassment she hadn't shown reading a racy sex scene. "There's no one."

"Of course there is. Let me guess," he said. Cassandra's eyes widened, and he added, "Or we can go to sleep."

Blackmail was much more fun from the other side, and he watched her internal struggle. Not only did she want to keep reading, but she especially didn't want to take an order from him, solely on principle. It was written all over her face.

He gave her a minute, then said, "So, it's probably someone with the Inquisition. We don't meet many other people, except diplomats and nobles, and even I know better than that. Not a mage. A fighter, probably, and likely a man given your ardor for our gallant hero, Rolan."

"Stop," she said quickly. "Please. I surrender." She blew out the candle next to her without so much as a backwards glance. He laughed and did the same.

He rolled over gingerly and searched for sleep, but his mind was still churning. A male warrior with the Inquisition was still a wide field, but he couldn't imagine it was a junior officer. Not only would she recoil at the chain of command, even if she wasn't technically in it, but her reaction to the youth of the mage had been telling. And it was probably someone she spent a lot of time with. Which men qualified? Varric. Blackwall. The Chargers.

Cullen froze. The Chargers. Iron Bull. One of the only men in Inquisition who was broader and more powerful, and he was at least as skilled as Cassandra in the ring. The qunari would be a fantasy worthy of her. And someone she might worry about approaching seriously, given the expansive field the mercenary played on. Cullen's suspicion hardened into certainty. Didn't she spend most mornings with the group? She even traveled with them sometimes. And they always sat next to each other at his briefings.

But how did Bull feel? Cullen thought back to some of the Inquisition's bloodier fights. Bull had seemed very impressed with her. Who wouldn't have been? She was one of the best warriors they had. And the qunari's post-battle comments had certainly been suggestive.

Of course, Bull was suggestive with everyone, including Cullen himself, but there was an edge about the way he watched the Seeker when she fought that Cullen was pretty sure meant more than just a vague interest. If that was who she yearned for, she wouldn't be disappointed.

Well, maybe she would be on the romance side. He'd never heard of Bull bringing a woman flowers.

Still, her fire couldn't exist only to be used for books. Cullen's love life might be hopeless and pale, but she had a chance for something better. If anyone could touch Iron Bull's heart, it was her. "Cassandra?" he said softly.

"Mmm?" she said.

"You should talk to him. The man. The reality might not be as painful as you think."

The silence stretched out, and he thought she'd fallen asleep when she said, very slowly, "I will consider it. Good night, Commander."


	6. The First Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter has a very short scene of attempted Fade non-con.

"Will you run with me?"

Solona Amell crouched, small and afraid, in the corner of the Tower's library. She was as gentle and temporary as a falling leaf, lightly touching the world before spinning off on the magical currents of her mind, but now she was trembling and still. Cullen watched through cracks in the books, but he couldn't see who she was talking to. Another mage. This was treason and dissension. He needed to report it.

His eyes followed the brush of hair against her neck and the wetness on her lips as her tongue darted across them. One hand was rubbing the opposite arm in stuttering, mesmerizing rhythm. She was beautifully, impossibly sweet. She didn't deserve the Tower or this life. If she ran, he would let her.

Cullen made to steal away when she spoke again. "No, perhaps you're right. We can stay. Cullen will protect us," she said. Her eyes found his unerringly, and the barriers between them vanished. "Cullen is strong. I stayed for him. For the warm honey of his eyes and the shyness of his voice. If he hadn't loved me, I would have left. I would have lived."

"No," he whispered. "I never told you."

"I knew," she said, and he was so afraid that it was true. "You loved me, Templar. You were strong, but your strength wasn't for me. It was for your masters. All of the power in your blood for them alone. You loved me just enough to doom me. You loved your duty more than enough to kill us all."

Tears gathered in his eyes, ghostly and pale across his vision. "I'm not a Templar," he said desperately. Hopefully. He'd told someone that. Or had someone told him?

"You are. You will always be. It's on your skin," she said. The cuirass he wore melted under her words, but the brand of the Templars glowed lyrium-blue on his chest. Her fingers traced it. They were light and graceful, and soon her sweet mouth followed, and he could do nothing but watch and want. "Forget your duty. Love me instead, Cullen. Love me, so I might live."

The pale alabaster of her face tilted to his. Its trust offered him absolution for his sins, and he leaned down to accept it. Just once, to let go of what was right and do what was wanted. Before their lips could touch, before he could be the right kind of strength to save her, he stopped, as he always did. He was a Templar in his heart.

His tears fell on her lips, which were cracked and bloodied. He pulled away with effort, inch by inch. She was wearing a burial shroud. She hadn't received one in life. None of them had, but in his mind she would always meet the Maker as she should have.

"You died with a demon inside you, love. I protected you with my blade. I was strong. Too strong for you. But I'm no savior," he said.

Her eyes were accusing even in death, and he closed them softly as the library swirled around them.

Cullen lurched when the dream changed. He was in Kirkwall, patrolling the Gallows. Mages walked around him fearfully. He was the second-in-command, and Meredith's hand was on him. They should fear him. They should fear each other. Danger was inside them all, and he would protect Thedas from it. It was his duty, and he would show them his strength.

He turned the corner into the courtyard without breaking stride. It was full of Templars and mages waiting for the other shoe to drop. Cullen was the other shoe, and they stiffened when he walked in. But not all of them. They were distracted by a commotion at the dock. Cullen's sudden, sinking feeling was confirmed when Hawke strode up the stairs. Her eyes locked on him immediately, and she grinned like a dragon spotting a wounded halla. She made for him with lightly swaying hips.

Her companions trailed her faithfully, as they always did. Mages, elves, warriors, it didn't matter. Hawke was a scorching comet across the universe, and she pulled all of Thedas into her wake. She was a free mage. She was the Champion. She would never submit.

"I might for you, Cullen," she said when she reached him. "Why don't you bring me in? I have my staff. I have other mages. I'm flaunting every rule you hold dear. You really should."

She threw her staff aside and presented her wrists daintily. A woman at afternoon tea offering a tray of sandwiches. The spelled rope was in his hands, winding and cording through his fingers, and it would be easy to tie her, bind her hands so she couldn't cast. He was the Knight-Captain. His job was to bind her. And then she would be his.

"Show me the error of my ways," she said with a wicked smile. "Or I'll destroy the world." She shivered pleasurably as he ran his fingers over her veins. "You have so many new thoughts in your mind. You must have been busy. Take me. Control me. I'm dangerous."

"No," he said, grinding out the words. "You're salvation. Kirkwall needs you free. You can't be caged."

He was losing the battle over himself. Hawke was all energy, all motion, and Cullen feared what he might do to gentle her. He feared what he wanted to do. There was nothing soft in her to cling to, and his hands blistered even while he couldn't stay away.

She'd wanted to bathe in his adoration and conflict. He'd given her both. "I love you."

"I don't want your love. I want your dominance," she whispered, stepping closer. A part of him roared approval, the part that was never weak. It begged to be off the leash, to use force to make the world into the image he desired. Hawke's blue eyes were wild with lust, close enough for him to see every fleck in them, and he would do his duty.

He clenched his fists around her skin and focused his mind. Meredith appeared at the top of the stairs behind him, a lyrium monster screaming obscenities against mages. Her red-rimmed eyes found Hawke, and the hatred overwhelmed everything in the courtyard.

"Defend yourself," said Cullen, and the staff appeared back in Hawke's hands. Her passion was meant for her life, and she would stay free. She snarled, but the Fade was already warping into a new shape.

Now it would be Ellana. He was riding the dream now, not being ridden, and he could see it stretched out in front of him. He nodded as the Chantry room appeared around him. She would be praying to the Creators, and she would ask him to join her in her prayers, to persuade her to the Maker's side. She would seduce him with the lure of a new faith, one that was theirs alone, but she was Dalish. He had to remember she was Dalish, and she had no use for the Maker. His faith was lonely and private.

Cullen frowned. It was too easy to remember the pattern. His mind was never this clear, and his purpose was never so obvious. He turned in a slow circle. Ellana wasn't here. Nothing was, beyond the statue and the candles. "Where are you?" he called to the demon. "Finish this!"

A voice whispered in his ear, so close he could feel the breath of it. "I wasn't always in the Chantry."

Cassandra. A small part of him knew this wasn't right, it wasn't what he'd expected, but her hands were already around his chest, tugging and tempting. He turned to meet her mouth with crushing force. She was so strong, with her callused fingers gripping him and holding him in place. There was no magic in her, nothing to burn him. Nothing that was afraid of who he would always be. Nothing that he needed to control.

He poured all of his power into her, and still she returned it, over and over again. He couldn't hurt her. She would always be safe. Through her, he would be, too.

Cullen let himself go with a low moan. She worked her fingers under the hem of his shirt and tore it off of him. Hers was already gone. Her bare skin was warm and alive under his hands. He ran them over her with bruising, hungry force, but she only pressed into his touch more urgently. His tongue warred with hers, and she made little breathy moans into his mouth.

He might have stayed like that for hours, for the rest of his life, but she pulled him into his bed and settled him over her. The cool air of the Frostbacks shivered across his bare skin, and he blinked in confusion even as he splayed his fingers across her stomach. "We were in the Chantry."

"This is more comfortable," she said. Her head fell back under the moonlight, and she arched up into his touch. "Take me, Cullen."

His mind stuttered. She'd used his name. She was beautiful and alive underneath him, but it wasn't her. "This is a dream," he said, trying to pull away. "Cassandra doesn't want this." The demon laughed in response and threw its legs around him. Their hips ground together, and Cullen nearly passed out from the sensation. He'd never wanted so badly. But the real Cassandra wouldn't. And he loved another. Ellana should be here.

"Use me," the demon whispered in Cassandra's voice. "Take what you want."

His cries became frantic as he begged the Maker to help him, to deliver him from the Fade and his own temptation. He didn't know the key to make it stop. What could free him? He'd already given in. The demon continued to tease him, to break him, and he was so close to breaking. The Chant tumbled from his lips, passages and words he couldn't name. Please no. Please.

It went on for an eternity, or so it seemed. Eventually, the Maker must have heard and taken pity on his weakest servant. The room vanished, and Cullen woke.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was the pain. It was excruciating, traveling in angry, swirling lines around his lower back. The muscles were too tight, and he was afraid to move and make it worse. The second was that he was sweating and shaking. Tears ran down his face. Whether they'd come from the dream that was all too clear in his memory or the pain he was feeling now, he didn't know. Maybe both.

The third was that he was still aroused to the point of madness. At that realization he did force himself to move, to see if Cassandra was in the room. Or, Maker forbid, in the bed next to him. His back screamed in protest, but he overruled it. When he saw he was alone, he'd never been so relieved at an empty room in his life.

He settled back gently and tried to calm his mind. He focused on breathing, on locking the memories away and living only with the physical pain. Slowly, so slowly, he pushed it down, out of his awareness. Like a stone through a small hole, or a breath of air into heated glass, he forced it away from him. The tears dried, the shaking stopped, and by the time he'd made the aches bearable his erection had subsided to a more manageable level. He eased himself into a sitting position and twitched a blanket over his lap just in case. Likely Cassandra would be back soon to give him a healing potion.

He was almost too late. The door pushed open, and the Seeker crept in with a tray and a head of wet hair. When she saw him sitting up and alert, she relaxed and walked more normally. "You're awake," she said. She looked at his face more closely. "Are you in pain?"

"If you happen to have a healing potion on that tray, it will be the best breakfast I've ever had," he said with as much of a smile as he could muster. She dropped her delivery on a table and rustled in her bag, then threw him a bottle neatly. He drank it and sighed as the subtle coolness flowed into him. He turned his attention back to Cassandra. "Why is your hair wet?"

"The inn has a heated bathing room. It was much more comfortable than the creek. You'll need to use it, too, before we leave," she said. "Can you ride?"

"Of course," he said, with more confidence than he felt. He wasn't going to spend another night in this room.

"Hmm," she said doubtfully. "Let me see."

Maker, she wanted him to undress. That was a terrible idea. Thanks to the persistent, unfading dream, Cullen was already struggling enough with the thought of her in the bath. He shook his head. "Really, I'm perfect." He tried to roll out of the bed as a demonstration and couldn't stop the hiss between his teeth at the resulting twinge.

"Honestly," said Cassandra. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm no healer, but Jaden told me what to look for."

She advanced on him, and he quickly stripped off his shirt. He knew that look. If he didn't do it, she would, and that really might undo him. He turned onto his stomach carefully. He was no longer noticeably hard, but he didn't want to take any chances. "Who's Jaden?" he asked into the pillow.

"The mage from last night. He was at breakfast," she said. Her weight shifted the bed as she settled next to him.

"Oh really?" he asked teasingly. "That anxious to register himself, was he?"

He grinned as she tsked over him. "He came to see his patient. I told him you were asleep. He left me instructions." Her fingers traced feather-light lines over his back, and he stopped grinning and focused on breathing.

"Yes," he said to distract himself. "I'm sure he so often drops in on middle-aged men with a few bruises just to make sure they're okay. I'm lucky I'm traveling with a beautiful woman, or I'd still be lying in the street." Her fingers stopped moving, and he was grateful for the reprieve. "So, how do I look?"

"Impressive," she said. Her thumb ran one, barely noticeable circle over his shoulder blade, and he almost groaned. "Not an inch of you a color other than blue and purple." He felt the bed shift again as she straddled him. He bit his lip against all the thoughts he shouldn't be having. Cassandra was going to kill him.

She sounded apologetic when she spoke again. "Your muscles are too tight. This will hurt with the bruising, but the potion should alleviate that."

"I'll be fine," he said. "I'm still quite tou -" He broke off as she pressed the flat of her heel into his back and washed him in a new pain. He bit his lip again to keep the howl in. It was no worse than setting a bone. It was no worse than a sword cut across the thigh. But those ended. This pain went on and on as she pressed in a new place, and under the pain there was a relief, a blessed relief that hurt all the more when other, different aches came through.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about an inappropriate response to her now. That was the last thought he had before blackness overtook him.

* * *

Cullen opened his eyes again to find no pain, no tears, and no Cassandra over him. He rolled over experimentally and felt a little pressure, but nothing like before. Less tentatively, he sat up and earned a scowl from his packing companion. "Be careful," she said.

He waved it away. "I'm great. So, time for sword work?"

That made her smile. "No sparring until eight hours after you've last passed out from pain," she said. "Bath. Breakfast. Riding. In that order."

"Martinet," he muttered loudly enough for her to hear.

She walked over to the side of the bed to pick up his discarded shirt and the book he'd been reading. He reached out and gripped her arm lightly before she left. There was no way to apologize for his disrespect of her without explaining exactly what that disrespect was, but he had to say something to ease his guilt. "Thank you. I've been nothing but a dour burden to you, and you've held up very well."

Then, to his utter shock, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. When she pulled back, her composed face was a counterpoint to his own confusion. "A weight is only a burden if you mind carrying it," she said, then turned around as if nothing had happened.

His mind spun crazily. Maybe he'd imagined it. He was in a fragile state. There was no way Cassandra - Cassandra, of all people! - had kissed him like a familiar and worn-in lover. There was no way he'd felt a responding tug in his gut, or a vague sense of loss when she turned away. He wasn't inconstant. She wasn't interested in him. Her dreams, if she ever had them, were of Iron Bull's hands, not his.

Of course, kisses on the forehead were also motherly, right? Sometimes? It must be that. He was hurt, and she was being nurturing. He nodded to himself. Yes, that was certainly it. The fact that he could no more imagine a clucking, comforting version of Cassandra than he could imagine Varric in silence for ten minutes solid didn't matter at all.

She was walking out the door before he'd gathered his wits. "I'll take your things down," she said over her shoulder. "I left you clean clothes and your armor. The bath is down the hall to the right."

He relaxed a little. That did sound like a mother.

"I'll be down in the dining hall," she added. "Jaden said he might return."

"The bed's available for you two if you need it!" he called after her. She didn't answer, but he felt better. Men with true romantic feelings didn't make those kinds of jokes to the objects of them. He focused his mind on Ellana, and the familiar ache was there and waiting. That was the hurt of honest love. Everything else was just noise.

He stood with an easier heart. Dreams were confusing. Reality was comfortingly sane, and he was going to take his bath with only one woman on his mind.


	7. The Ambassador

"'How many cats does one spirit need?'"

Josephine's usually flowing script was a little spikier than usual, and Cullen laughed at her words. He was reading aloud as Cassandra lounged against a tree. Their horses were grazing happily while they rested.

"'Yesterday an Orlesian noble sat on one that was, apparently, looking for a chair that smelled like mouse, and it was no small matter to shoo it away. Another has taken up permanent residence in your loft, because, according to Cole, it has the right kind of sunlight. If there are cat hairs on your pillows when you return, do not blame me.'"

He paused, feeling the Seeker's pointed gaze, but he didn't look up. He read faithfully to the end of a report that barely warranted the name. It was, again, astonishingly bereft of serious concerns in the Inquisition. Maybe Thedas truly had healed. Maker be praised if it had.

Cullen folded the note into his bag and considered. They would reach the Seeker's stronghold in only a few more hours of riding, and then negotiations would begin. Seekers were the most darkspawn-cursed stubborn people he'd ever known, present company most certainly included, and it wouldn't be easy to convince them to have eggs for breakfast, much less join the banner of a cause that wasn't their own grandiosity.

They would hate that the Divine was a mage, even though Vivienne wasn't at all interested in being a Mage Queen. She kept her magical and political powers well separated, the better to keep them both. The Seekers would also grumble at the stripping of their authority to know what was best in every situation without challenge, because there was no outcome of these talks where they didn't answer to the Inquisition. And they would certainly hate that the Templars were being taught to partner with instead of jail their charges.

He allowed that this group wasn't insane as the main branch had been, fighting to destroy the world out of their intrinsic arrogance, but they were still relics of an age that was now long past, whether they acknowledged it or not.

They'd failed in Ferelden. They'd failed at Kirkwall. They'd failed in the Blight and the war. But he would bring them to the Inquisition regardless. Ellana had charged him with the duty. And Cassandra would accept nothing less.

But it would make him angry to do it. Just seeing them would be enough to bring back his rage, and that wouldn't do for what he needed to say to Cassandra. He was happy now, at more peace than he'd been since before he could remember. He didn't want to tell her his revelation in the heat of frustration.

"So, I've been thinking," he said.

"Rare, but always welcome," she said without hesitation.

"Still upset?" he said, grinning. That morning he'd stepped into the ring pretending just a little lingering soreness from his fall. It had stirred her pity, and her caution, and he'd beaten her soundly for the first time. "That will teach you to underestimate me. Didn't you get the speech? 'Never enter a fight without the desire to win, or you've already lost.' Our Reverend Mother practically wrote it into the Chant."

"No. That must have been a Fereldan addition to your training," she said. "However, my final governess did tell me that a handsome face was a liar's face. She was obviously wiser than I believed at the time."

Nothing about her changed. Her eyes didn't sparkle, her voice was the same even tone it always was, and she certainly didn't feel like she was flirting with him. He'd heard her say similar things to others, especially Varric, who managed to get under her skin more than anyone. And yet Cullen had to fight to keep his hand off of his neck, and he knew a faint blush was threatening his cheeks.

He'd done well since the night of his injury. There'd been no more dreams, he'd kept his mind firmly on the business at hand, and he'd redirected any stray wonderings to Ellana immediately. He and Cassandra hadn't shared a bed again, and even his steady progress through _Swords and Shields_ was becoming easier. He refused to be a man whose lust was driven by mere proximity.

Still, there were those moments before the discipline kicked in that he couldn't end. Flashes of dream memory and jolts of desire. His body was so aware of hers, and he'd found no way to dull his sensitivity to her movements. When they fought, he knew where she would go before she stepped. If she stirred in her bedroll, he did as well. It was wanting he'd never experienced before, even with Hawke, and it was the most damned inconvenient thing he could have imagined.

Cassandra was beautiful. He'd always known she was, and more than a few of the Templars in Kirkwall had taken to nighttime discussions and speculations about her that would have earned them a bout of hard labor had they been overheard. Cullen had even participated in a few. It hadn't been personal, and she hadn't been the only one. Nor had they all been women or men, on both sides. Maker knew they'd needed something to talk about that wasn't the shattering of their world.

She hadn't been real then, just the hat of failed authority with a strong, shapely mouth underneath it. Until she'd asked him to break ranks with the Templars and join her rebellion, he'd never even considered she might hate that authority as much as he did. She was the Right Hand of the Divine and the most upright Seeker in the ranks. The idea that she could have motivations of her own had been shocking.

Once the risk had been taken and she'd revealed her ambitions, she changed. Or he did. Cassandra became a person, not just an anonymous Seeker. What's more she'd become a stable force in his life, something that he could depend on to never move. The only thing that hadn't moved, until the Inquisition had truly formed. It had been a long time since he'd had someone he trusted, someone who was always where she was sworn to be, and he'd never entertained tawdry speculations about her again. What kind of fool would risk something like her loyalty to indulge in fantasies?

A large part of him didn't seem to care about that anymore, but he would master this. Soon his mind would be occupied with other things, she would no longer be so close to him, and this strange lust would be gone. They would be the friends they always were, the kind whose roots reached underneath the walls of their duties. The kind that remained strong without words or deeds.

Cassandra coughed lightly, and he realized it was his turn to speak. He didn't remember what he'd been saying. "Was that the extent?" she asked. "Thinking about thinking? Or did you take it further until you found actual thought?"

"Oh. Yes. I've been thinking that I may have been a little hasty," he said. She raised an eyebrow, and he spoke quickly. "In my decision. To leave Skyhold. Not to leave for the mission, which was of course a command, but to leave in a way that was so…"

"Lovelorn?"

"Permanent," he said, narrowing his eyes. She shrugged eloquently, and he crossed his arms. He called up his carefully rehearsed speech. "Thedas is stabilizing, which is the exact wrong time to replace a military leader. After a prolonged season of peace, perhaps, but not at the moment of transition. Wise enemies will take advantage of the moment of relaxation. I feel very capable of continuing my duties, both mentally and physically."

A smile spread across her face as he spoke. He was heartened, and continued more confidently, "Furthermore, replacing a leader, unless in cases of negligence or death, should be done with full participation by the outgoing party. I haven't been negligent, nor have I died, to the best of my knowledge." He tapped his feet, searching for more words. When there weren't any, he nodded. "That's what I'll explain to the Inquisitor."

He braced himself, preparing for gloating, but her voice was more relieved than satisfied. "This appears a wise course."

"What, no celebration in victory?" he asked. "I can hardly believe it."

She turned to her chewing horse and fiddled with its gear. Her eyes fixed on its flank as she spoke. "I'm simply glad that you no longer find a message in the Inquisitor's decision that wasn't an intended one."

What did that mean? He was still convinced that Ellana meant to dismiss him, even though he no longer intended to let her. What message was Cassandra seeing? He took in the set of her jaw and understood. "You think she sent me with you so you could monitor me. Away from Skyhold. Get me off of lyrium, if I was about to use it, and fix my head so I wouldn't want to again," he said. "Because you told her about it, and because you're the one who would know the dangers best."

She was still facing away from him, and he couldn't read her expression. But her lack of reaction was enough. "Cassandra, I'm sure that's not it. None of this was your fault," he said. He tried to find something that would help. "Between the two of us we'll negotiate the Seekers into a quick decision, and then we'll both be back at Skyhold ahead of schedule. You can hand me off to someone else and stop worrying about me. And I'm sure Iron Bull will be happy to see you," he added with a smile. And she would never have to know that he'd, however briefly, considered destroying their friendship for the whims of his body.

At that she turned, stoic and unreadable. She nodded once, slowly, and he wondered if she was angry that he'd breached her secret. She didn't look angry, exactly. More pale. "Thank you, Commander. I hope you're right. It will be good to be home."

After they mounted and were riding towards the Seekers' hideout, he couldn't shake the feeling he was missing something. It was the same prickle on the back of his neck he got during exercises against Leliana's scouts, when there were archers in the trees he sensed but couldn't see. He looked around him as they traveled, but there was no danger he could find.

* * *

The Seeker's stronghold was more a collection of lean-tos, and Cullen held Cassandra back in surprise. Instead of the military might he'd expected, or even the discipline, the entire camp had the look of a hastily-constructed civilian encampment. There were even children around. He didn't think it was a sign of a threat, but it was something unexpected. It was always better to be cautious in the face of what was not understood. They would approach carefully, on foot.

Cassandra tied their horses off behind some trees a mile away before they'd been noticed as anyone important. Cullen braced himself for what was about to come. The lightness of his heart was about to leave, and he mourned it more than he could say. Cassandra watched him, still withdrawn but obviously worried, and he smiled to show there was nothing truly wrong. "Sorry. Just… Seekers."

She didn't look offended. "I know," she said. Her hand reached out and touched the metal of his armor, as though it were flesh. "They're not the same as they were, Commander. Neither are you. You hold the upper hand."

He nodded, then laughed. "Well, one of us does. If they'll bow to anyone, it's you, Lady Seeker," he said.

The moment wasn't enough, and he wasn't ready to go. Just one more minute, the two of them alone, like this. They might never be like this again. At Skyhold they existed in separate, parallel lives. He thought of Ellana, of the things she wouldn't know about how much she was to him. Cassandra deserved better. In case things went poorly, he needed her to understand what she'd given him.

He took her hand in his with a strong grip that she returned. "Thank you again, Cassandra. For my life. For choosing me, out of all the Templars, for something better. I'll never know why you did. I hadn't led a life worthy of it. But I don't like to think what I might have become without that choice. I might never have known the Inquisition. I would likely be dead."

She was uncomfortable. He could tell by the way she shifted her feet, but she didn't let go. He pressed on. "And thank you for this journey. For being the friend I needed. It's been better than I feared. It's been… good. I can't imagine it would have been half so much without you," he said.

"You're welcome," she said, but it didn't sound right. It was perfunctory, rote. He hadn't expressed himself well enough. She still didn't understand the debt he owed.

He searched around him vaguely, hoping better words would present themselves, then smiled at a clump of flowers behind her. In three strides he was there, plucking a yellow blossom out of the ground. He turned with a flourish and recited, "I salute you, fair Genevieve, for your charity to a broken and desperate man. Your kindness in my darkest hours will never be forgotten, though I travel to the ends of Thedas."

He dropped to his knee and threw his empty hand back in a fair approximation of Rolan's flamboyant manner, and he was gratified when she chuckled above him. When he looked up, her discomfort was gone, though there was the shine of tears in her eyes. Solemnly, she accepted the proffered tulip. "I thank you, Ser," she said. "Though my father must never know."

Then they were both laughing, and she pulled him to his feet. She held the flower to her face and his breath caught as it grazed her lips. She was his friend. Possibly the only real one he had. But oh, how he wanted to tear that streak of yellow away and see if she tasted as good as the demon had made him imagine.

He forced his mind back to his office, where Ellana had brushed her fingers over different petals as he'd watched. The touch had danced across his skin, as surely as if she'd touched him herself. He'd felt it every night after as he'd fallen asleep, but that vividness was now stubbornly absent. He was losing her. He had to get back to Skyhold.

Cassandra didn't notice his lapse. "You didn't get the speech right, you know," she said. "It's much longer."

"I've only read it once," he said. "Let me work on it." He jerked his head towards the camp. "Do you think they saw me?"

"The Seekers appreciate dramatic chivalry," she said. "Even Lucius did, once. Who do you think recommended _Swords and Shields_ to me?"


	8. The Negotiator

"So, are the terms as you desire?"

They'd all gathered without preamble or ceremony, and Patricia, the woman who served as the group's leader, had laid out their requests succinctly. That businesslike brevity was the only familiar thing that had happened so far, from Cullen's perspective.

The dozen Seekers that remained were mixed with civilians. One of them even seemed to be giving orders. Not one of his former overseers had yelled, threatened, demanded or attempted to intimidate him. No references to lyrium, no scoldings about free mages or weak Templars, no suggestions as to how he, or the Inquisition, could be improved. They simply sat, waiting. Nervous, almost. There were children in the clearing, grave and watching.

And their terms were the strangest of all.

Cullen shot a sidelong look at Cassandra. She hadn't said a word. Most people would read nothing but polite interest on her face, but he saw the way one eyebrow lifted just enough for surprise. The Seekers that remained wanted nothing, or so little as to be close enough. A place in the Inquisition. A subservient place, under his command as needed, though not in the front lines if possible. Their community to stay together, wherever they were sent. And the children to be safe. Most of all, that.

When his companion didn't speak, he cleared his throat. "I must admit confusion, Lady. You'll be content without a leadership role? Your titles will bring you no power. My commands are not subject to interpretation or oversight," he said. "And the Templars answer to me, as the Commander, or Lady Cassandra, as their leader. And not to her as a Seeker of Truth, but as an appointed, independent official. Appointed by the Inquisitor. And the Divine. Who are both mages."

A handful of the Seekers winced at the reminder, and he settled back. Now would be the fight. But Patricia surprised him again with a gentle look. "Commander Rutherford. We've never met. You served at Kinloch, correct? And Kirkwall?" she asked. Neither were questions.

He nodded tightly. Cassandra finally broke her silence. "He served and survived. He did his duty."

"Of course," said Patricia. "I would never imply otherwise. I'm certain the Commander was as much of a credit to the Templars as he is to the Inquisition. He's spoken of very well by the people." She clasped her hands. "Nevertheless. Those assignments would have been difficult. And scarring. The name of the Seekers of Truth would not have been spoken kindly."

"Should it have been?" he asked in a voice that was much calmer than he felt. A headache crept up behind his eyes and threatened to overtake him.

"No," answered Cassandra. "We failed. The war would not have happened had we done our duty. We deserved no kindness."

"Perhaps not," said Patricia. "But our mistakes weren't made in malice, and the world is created anew under your banners. Will it welcome us? Or only tolerate us?"

Cullen rubbed his temples. "You won't be mistreated. Not under my supervision."

"Mistreatment needn't be visible for punishments to continue," she said quietly. "You should know this well, Commander."

"Do you doubt his honor?" asked Cassandra. Her tones were reminiscent of a mabari that had mastered speech. Cullen almost laughed. He was the one who'd been afraid of losing his temper, of showing too much anger. He'd never thought he'd be the one with the cooler head.

"I believe in his honor. But I've seen how the tone of a place takes on the unconscious feelings of its leaders. So have both of you," said Patricia. "Honor isn't enough. Understanding is required."

"If that's your final demand, you'll be disappointed," he said. "No understanding exists for the blind, arrogant, reckless disregard for the situations in Kinloch and Kirkwall."

Kinloch had been a fast boil. Its troubles were there to see for those who knew, for those who should have known, but they had been subtle. Many had missed the signs, including him. It had been the tip of a storm that had broken without warning, and truthfully he might have been able to understand that failing.

But Kirkwall had been years in the making, and the Seekers had never once listened to him.

"Not understanding of the past, Commander. The past is a poor place to look for understanding, because the people searching have been changed by it. In the past, you are a Templar, Cassandra is still a young Seeker in training, and Thedas a place waiting to explode. The future is hardening into a new shape, but there are still places in it for those who look for truth."

He leaned back with a stony face and prepared for a lecture. This smugness was what he remembered, exactly, and he let every irritation he'd ever swallowed show full force. He was no Templar, as she'd so correctly stated, and they held no power over him. He didn't have to hide himself.

Patricia wasn't cowed, but she did speak more slowly. "The truth is that the Seekers, as a group, are no longer needed. The Inquisition has replaced us as the authority and the arm of the Chantry." She held up a hand as he started to speak. "An arm that is independent, and sometimes rules. But you are certainly what the Templars and mages will bow to in the coming years.

"Another truth," she continued, "is that Thedas is not healed. There are those who need help, who need the truth uncovered, and the Inquisition cannot be everywhere. It's large. It's powerful. It's also slow and ponderous. There are children being lost, women being taken, men being overwhelmed." Her arm swept out, taking in the ring of civilians around them. The man next to her, the non-Seeker who still issued orders, took her hand in his and squeezed.

Cullen started a little at the affectionate gesture. He looked at him more closely and saw love in the space between them. He watched the children, and they were grave but not afraid. And none of the people here were their parents. It was obvious, once he chose to see. They weren't acting like Seekers, because they weren't. They were a family. And they were growing.

Patricia nodded when he looked back at her face. "This is why we wrote to the Inquisitor and asked for peace. Our efforts were successful, but dodging the anger of those we'd failed was limiting us. We will do more together than apart. It seems she agreed," she said. He looked at her in confusion, and she clarified, "To send two such exalted members to formalize her arrangement shows great faith."

His blood ran cold. Cassandra leaned forward, with only a hint of surprise in her voice. "You already had an arrangement with the Inquisitor?"

"Yes, of course," said Patricia. "She wrote that it only needed to be approved by her people, in person. To measure our true intentions. I assumed that was you?"

Cullen said, with great effort, "Yes, Lady. It is. Your terms are acceptable, your cause is admirable, and I will formally welcome you to the Inquisition once I review the copy of the agreement the Inquisitor made with you. The final version was not provided to us."

A man stepped forward holding a sheaf of papers. "There are several pages," he said. "In addition, we have since received sealed correspondence from Skyhold that we were instructed to give you after we spoke."

Cullen took it all and stood. The correspondence was indeed sealed, and he didn't need to ask if they'd read it. The Seekers had been many things, but they'd never been spies. Not outside of the Circles. "Excuse me," he said. "I will read these privately, by your leave."

"By your leave, Commander," Patricia said with a smile. It was only slightly pained. "We are your vassals now, after all."

Were they? Did he have any vassals at all? This journey had been even more of an excuse to remove him from Skyhold than he'd feared. His stomach knotted, and he had to get out. He nodded sharply to them all, then turned on his heel and went to meet his fate.

* * *

There were two letters beyond the detailed agreement written in Josephine's hand. One letter from Leliana. One from Ellana. He sat on a distant log and opened Leliana's first. The Nightingale would explain their decision in a way that was clear and comforting. The uncertain pain of Ellana's letter could wait.

But Leliana's note wasn't an explanation, merely a report. It was addressed to both him and Cassandra and written in the highest level Inquisition code. It spoke of several missions, none truly critical or secret, but all with implications for future plans when he got back to Skyhold. If he got back.

_Please prioritize these for your return. They are necessary_ , she wrote in closing, and he frowned. None of this was urgent enough to explain her sending a report, but Leliana performed no wasted actions. Something was important here, but he didn't have the energy to decipher it. Cassandra might have more luck.

Ellana's letter opened more slowly, resisting the action in his hand. He forced himself to breathe and hope. It was probably only routine information, an explanation of what he was truly supposed to do here. There was nothing to fear. He steeled himself and began to read.

_Cullen,_

_By now you'll know that the negotiations were already complete. I apologize for the deception, but it was the easiest way to make you agree to the trip. Cassandra tells me you're very happy to be in Ferelden. I hope you take the opportunity to spend time with your family. Mia seems like a woman who would never forgive a brother if he didn't. Please say hello to them from Skyhold. And don't forget to plant the bulbs I gave you!_

_Ellana_

The sounds of the camp dimmed as the words rasped across his heart. There was nothing he was supposed to do but leave. His fingers curled around the paper, and he looked at them. Scarred, with aches and pains, crooked where they'd broken with no healer near. Their strength was gone. Ellana was wise to do this, and wiser to do it while he was still so far away. Too far away to argue. Far enough away to be forced to accept it without incident.

But his eyes played over the page again and again, always over the same phrase. _Cassandra tells me you're very happy._ Each time he did, a new piece of pain settled in his stomach, until he had no room left for anything else.

* * *

Cullen didn't know how long he'd been sitting, staring at nothing, when Cassandra made an appearance outside the circle of tents. The details must have been worked out to everyone's satisfaction by the other Seekers' smiles, but there was a look of concern on the face he knew so well. Concern for him, he realized distantly. He hadn't come back.

When she saw him, she made for him immediately, and that got him moving. He was leaving.

He'd almost made it back to the horses when she caught him. "Commander. What's happening? Is it an emergency?" she asked.

He laughed but didn't look at her. "No. Quite the opposite," he said. He thrust the pages behind him for her to take, then focused on grooming and checking his mount. "I've been dismissed."

Cassandra gasped. There was silence as she read, and he steadfastly continued his preparations. Saddle secure. Bridle straight. Hooves clean and free of rocks. Keep moving, keep holding the list of tasks. Push the anger away into a smaller and smaller ball inside of him. Cullen didn't need anger where he was going.

"I see nothing of a dismissal," she said hesitantly. "Leliana awaits your return."

The ball exploded, and the frustration washed over him in a glorious wave. "The Nightingale obviously hasn't been informed of your mistress's intentions," he said tightly. Not his mistress, not anymore. "The Inquisitor's message was quite clear."

"Because she wishes you to visit your family?" asked Cassandra.

If it had been anyone else, it would have been an incredulous, sarcastic question, and he might have struck them. He certainly wouldn't have answered. But she sounded serious, as if she really wanted to know, so he said against his will, "Not visit. Stay with. Permanently." Cullen checked his saddlebags, did his usual inventory, and his breath hitched as he touched the pouch of bulbs. "She opened with my name, not my title. Nothing adverse has happened in Skyhold without me. The Inquisitor has followed through on her intentions, as I always told you she meant to. She charged me to plant something new in Ferelden. I will."

"Commander, I don't think -"

He whirled around. "You told her I was happy! Happier away from my job. From her. What would be the point of returning now?" he said. "Even if I tried to persuade her to change her mind, she has even more reason to ignore me. And doubt me." His jaw ached from tension and despair. Cassandra had betrayed him. He'd never thought it possible.

"You were happy," she said in a soft voice. She didn't look away. She accepted his anger with her usual battle calm. Normally that would hearten him. Her coolness under fire had saved them all many times. Now it just infuriated him that she had so little understanding of the cost of her honesty.

"I was happy when I'd decided I was going back," he said. He ignored the traitor inside of him, who knew he'd felt peace even before he'd made that decision. "When I had a job, and a life, and a purpose. The Inquisitor's trust. Now what do I have?" He laughed, once, but it was hard in his throat. "I guess I'll find out."

Cassandra's eyes pitied him again. He felt so small underneath their gaze. "Solas -" she began, but he cut her off again.

"Blight take Solas! She valued me, Cassandra. I was useful. Necessary. It wasn't everything, but it was enough. It would have always been. You made her doubt me. You started all of this," he said. He heard the bitterness in his voice. "And now you've finished it. For someone who claimed to want me to stay on as Commander, you've certainly done your best to destroy me."

That broke through her impassivity. There was a flash of guilt, or shame, some emotion, and he triumphed in his victory. He pressed the advantage. "So that's it. I thought you were trying to fix things," he said. He laid his hand across his cheek in mock thought. "Who were you really helping to promote? Yourself? You'd make a fine Commander."

Her jaw dropped, and he smiled without mirth. "Or perhaps Iron Bull is tired of only leading mercenaries. I'm sure you'd be more than pleased to serve under him," he said savagely.

Cassandra's eyes widened, then narrowed with a dangerous glint. "I wanted a strong, capable, focused Commander," she said. "Not a lovesick fool so miserable he never came out of his office except to discipline already disciplined officers. Not the morose man dreading his duties, to the point where his orders are so predictable they could be anticipated by a child."

"Ellana thought I was doing good work."

"She knows nothing of the military. Poor would be adequate and adequate would be superlative in her eyes."

Cullen stepped towards her, a step away from his center. "Fine. Ellana knows nothing of the military. You do. And you just said I'm unfit to lead. What better testimonial than that, Lady?" he asked.

Her face softened. "That's not what I meant. You're an excellent leader, when your mind is free of distractions," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"You've been a humorless, killjoy of a Commander ever since Solas returned. It's been all we could do to keep the men only grumbling. What's worse, you've been a poor tactician. Tevinter's been gaining ground everywhere, or would have been without Leliana's assistance," she said. "After Ellana's bed was no longer empty. After you could no longer pretend to be the waiting lover of a lady you will never inform of your devotion."

She didn't flinch at his hiss. At least there was no more pity in her eyes.

The sword at his hip was so close to his hand. His fingers grazed it, ready to draw, ready to fight. Cullen didn't want to spar now. He wanted to brawl. It would be a fair fight, without tricks or deception, and he would return the pain of her words a hundred times over. She'd never fought him when he meant war, and the beat of his heart was so close to that now.

She raised her chin in acknowledgment, but there was no challenge, and she made no move for her own weapon. He tried to tell himself she was afraid of him, but the thought could barely form before he rejected it. She wasn't afraid of anything. Certainly not of losing. But Cassandra never used her steel against a friend. Never enter a fight without the desire to win, or you've already lost.

He pulled his hand away, and she relaxed almost imperceptibly. Cullen smiled, and he knew it didn't reach his eyes. There was one thing she feared. "I suppose you would know even more about undeclared devotion than I do. How long have you pined for a man who only has eyes for others? I don't wonder he does, with your only understanding of men's needs coming from trashy, pointless books."

Her breath hitched, and then there was only silence. Even the forest stopped rustling, holding its breath. It was as though the world underneath their feet had broken in half.

He turned back to Torch and cinched the strap underneath his belly. "I'm leaving," he said. "Going home. I'm sure you've summoned a squad to escort the Seekers to wherever they want to go. They'll accompany you back to Skyhold."

"You can't."

Cullen wouldn't look at her. "I can. I am."

"I ordered them here on your authority. They'll want to see you before they take charge," she said.

"They'll be unsatisfied, then," he said.

Cassandra's voice came back hard and determined. "Ellana would expect you to do your duty, Commander. She would be disappointed with this cowardice."

If he'd had the capacity for laughter, he would have laughed until tears streamed down his face. What did Ellana care of him or his duty? Her dismissal of him was already clear and dark on his heart. Another load of indifference was meaningless. And she knew nothing of the depths of his cowardice.

He ran his finger over the leather of the saddle. What did Cassandra's face look like now? Was she defeated? Angry? Glad to be rid of him, almost certainly. If she was to be believed, she'd been doing extra work for months, covering for his inadequacy. Covering so well that Ellana knew nothing of it, though the rest of the Inquisition must have been aware. She'd said a weight wasn't a burden when you didn't mind carrying it. Well, she would mind now.

"Would you be disappointed in me?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

When no answer came, he turned around. Cassandra was gone, walking back to the tents. He saw flecks of yellow in the prints of her boots and realized she'd crushed the clump of flowers he'd seen, back when he'd expressed his gratitude for his life. It was hard to remember that feeling now.

He'd won. He could leave, and his duty would be forgotten inside of a new life.

He stood looking at the crumpled yellow petals for a long time. Eventually, he reached behind him to lead the horses closer to the tents and wondered why winning felt so much like losing.


	9. The Scout

"Commander, is that you?"

Cullen looked up from the ground, where several children had wrestled him into submission. An Inquisition scout, one of Leliana's by the look of her, stood over him with a smirk and a salute. He rolled to his back, dislodging a few small bodies, and sat up with the most dignified expression he could muster. The attempt was ruined when a particularly energetic boy hopped onto his shoulders and gripped his hair hard enough to water his eyes.

"Corporal," said Cullen, trying to extract himself. "As you can see, the natives in this part of Ferelden are very difficult to subdue."

A shriek cut him off, and a hard hit to his back had him wheezing. The scout's mouth twitched, once. "Yes, I'd heard tales. The Keeper always warned us about wandering too close to them," she said. To Cullen's vague surprise, she leaned down and scooped up a passing girl. The child played with the scout's ears, but she didn't seem to mind. "Fortunately we brought weapons. Fresh food in the wagon!" she called across the group.

In seconds, the children were racing towards the bait, and Cullen could finally stand up. The little girl in the elf's arms kicked and fought, giggling, until she was released to run free. The shouts had already begun around the shocked Inquisition soldiers.

"I'll help them," said a voice behind him, and Cullen stiffened immediately. Cassandra didn't look at him as she passed. He watched her go with trepidation and tried to remember the last time she hadn't greeted him in the morning. He'd made it out of his office less and less as the days passed, but whenever he did, the Seeker had always given a solemn wave at the least.

He scowled. She was the one who'd upended his life, not the other way around. Yes, he'd said some things that he wished he hadn't. He would write and apologize, as soon as he'd gotten enough distance. But he'd stayed for her. She'd guilted him, and he'd stayed, and she could be just a little more grateful that he had.

Thank the Maker for the children. He'd spent the evening and morning entertaining them as best he could, both as a balm against his own pain and to ease their own. The fact that Cassandra had spent her time on the other side of the camp, speaking to her old comrades, had been the only thing to save the Inquisition from an embarrassing public squabble between its higher ranking members. Or nominal members, in his case.

Even then it had been a near thing.

He realized he was glaring at Cassandra's back, and he turned back to the scout with effort. "You arrived very quickly, Corporal. Did you use magic to get here?" he asked.

"No, ser. We were already en route. Inquisitor's orders. Of course, we weren't to approach until we got final word from you, but it was all timed pretty well," she said.

Yes, Ellana was much better at all of this than he'd ever given her credit for. He shoved feelings aside and focused on logistics. He'd only just begun outlining the composition of the camp when a wail came from the wagons. "I want Ser Lion!"

Cullen colored. "That's me," he said. He turned around to see a girl of around eight folding her arms and glaring at a hapless private. His short but comprehensive experience with Jenny had been enough to learn she shared enough traits with a certain Red Jenny to be more than a junior soldier could handle.

"I should see what she needs," he said hurriedly.

"Of course, Commander Lion," said the scout. Because he wasn't technically her commander anymore, he ignored both it and the brief giggle that followed.

She followed him when he set off, and he muttered as they walked, "You're not going to tell Leliana about this, are you?"

"She'd demote me if I didn't," the scout answered promptly. "I like being a corporal, ser."

He thought about arguing that Leliana would never know to punish her if she didn't tell her, but there wasn't enough time before they reached the supplies. And besides, he knew better than that.

"Jenny," he said, folding his arms to match the vibrating girl, "are you being difficult?"

"He says that we have to eat first and then the grown-ups can," she said. She pointed at the private as she spoke, with all the vigor of a Reverend Mother banishing a slapdash lay brother to his room. "I want to eat with you. Lions need food, too."

"They do, but this food is for you. And a proper lion always waits for the cubs to finish before he starts," he said, trying logic.

It failed. "That's stupid. They'll never be done," said Jenny. Her dismissive gestures now included her fellow children. "They're babies."

Cassandra disappeared from the corner of his vision, and he envied her freedom to extract herself. "That's not a nice thing to say," he said. "And you aren't done yet either." He nodded to the cheese and bread still clutched in her hands.

"That was a mistake," whispered the scout behind him.

He barely had time to be puzzled before Jenny shoved both hands into her mouth and chewed with a rapidity that would have made even the Chargers blink at her table manners. She swallowed heavily and grinned. "Your turn!" she said. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the wagon.

He resisted. "The food is still for your family, cub. By order of the Inquisitor." He turned the last into a faint question to the nearby private, who nodded. "I may be a lion, but even lions take orders."

It was again the wrong thing to say. Jenny pouted and swiped tears away from her eyes. "But if you're not family, does that mean you're not coming with us?" she asked in shaky voice. "I prayed to the Maker last night that you would. The Maker never answers me, but I thought this time He might." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I prayed so hard."

Cullen's heart sank. How could he answer this girl who'd known nothing but abandonment and change? No parents, nothing familiar, not even a home she knew. She was the face of every Kirkwall orphan, every lonely Skyhold refugee, every Sera, and the world was never as kind as they needed or as hopeful as it pretended. He knew the Maker worked all the miracles a person needed to keep her on her determined path, but that was no comfort to a child.

He felt the moment stretching out and knew he wasn't equal to its needs. Soon she would cry, and he still had no words.

Just before the scene shattered, Cassandra was back and kneeling next to him. She set a bag on the ground and stretched her hands out to the girl's shoulders. "Jenny," she said, "look at me."

The girl sniffled and glared suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Comm- Ser Lion's friend," she said. Jenny looked at him, and he nodded. As soon as the girl turned back, Cassandra continued, "Many people pray for him to stay with them. He's brave and strong and good and so many love him. Do you believe that?"

"Yes," said Jenny reluctantly.

"The Maker can't grant so many prayers, even though He would like to. Ser Lion is only one person, and there are many needs," said Cassandra. Jenny opened her mouth to protest, but Cassandra overrode her. "What the Maker can do is give him, as a gift, to the ones who need him, for long enough. Like you. And once Ser Lion's been with you, he always will be if you know the secret."

"What's the secret?" asked Jenny.

"That he remembers everyone who remembers him," said Cassandra. "Always. Close your eyes and picture him, and he'll be there to give you courage. His strength can travel across all of Thedas, past rivers and mountains and into the hearts of everyone who knows him. You'll never be alone." The Seeker smiled sadly, a pained expression that hurt Cullen's heart. "I've even done it myself, from time to time."

Jenny gave him a skeptical look. "Is that true?"

Cullen knelt down without hesitation and kissed her head. "Always," he whispered, and she looked more hopeful.

Cassandra picked up the bag again. "In the meantime, the food in the wagon may be for your family, but there's nothing stopping him from eating his own alongside you," she said. She plucked out some of the food they'd bought at the last town and handed it to him with a brief, indecipherable glance. She turned back to the child. "Go, eat. Learn to remember him."

He stood again, and when Jenny tugged him forward he let her. He swore to himself that he would lend the child his full attention for as long as he could give it, but he couldn't resist a look back at Cassandra. She was talking to the scout leader, ignoring him again, but it seemed like some of the tension was out of her shoulders. He prayed that was true. He didn't deserve friendship from her, but he needed it all the same.

* * *

The Inquisition forces and their new charges disappeared over the crest of the horizon too soon for his liking. He waved at them until he could no longer see. Jenny's face disappeared last, and her eyes screwed shut as she vanished. He closed his own and sent what strength he could to her. Her life wouldn't be easy, but no one's was. And perhaps it would be better than it had been.

Perhaps his would, too.

Cullen wiped away a tear as he turned around. He let them fall away from his heart, as he'd let everything else fall away. Everything except a stony Seeker, who was patting the horses and waiting for him.

"You can still catch them, you know," he said.

"I could, yes," she said. When he didn't move, she sighed. "Do you want to lose a fight again?"

He thought back to their first icily polite discussion. When the corporal had informed him that Cassandra planned to journey with him on his trek home, he'd been at her side in minutes, demanding an explanation. She'd barely looked at him while she'd outlined that she'd been given orders to accompany him on his trip, that those orders hadn't been countermanded, and that while he may consider himself above it all, she respected the chain of command.

Before he'd been able to formulate a reply, she'd left to load the empty wagons, and now she waited, implacable.

"It was less of a fight and more of a monologue, as I recall," he said.

"That is simply what someone thoroughly defeated would call a loss," she said. "Mount."

"Yes ser," he said, and she rolled her eyes. "This is ridiculous," he added. "I'll be to Honnleath by nightfall. There's no danger on the road. I don't need a protector."

"The children were quite wild. Your back may not stand the journey."

"So much for me being brave and strong," he muttered. "Now I'm just an old man who needs coddling to make it six hours on a horse." He shook his head and started to remove his armor.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I sent my formal resignation with the corporal. I'm not a soldier anymore. And I'll be damned if I'm going to wear the armor like I can still claim it," he said. He tossed his gauntlets to the ground with a clatter, then slowly picked them up and tied them to the saddlebags.

He blinked when Cassandra removed her armor as well. "You can wear yours," he said.

"I'm aware," she said. "But it would be unbalanced for one of us to be protected."

"Unbalanced? To whom, the bandits we're unlikely to meet?"

"No. To each other," she said, then stepped towards him too quickly to dodge. She put a hand on each of his shoulders and said, "Look at me."

Her eyes were frustrated, but he couldn't stop a smile. "This is familiar. Are you going to call me Jenny?"

"She does not deserve such an insult," she said.

His smile vanished.

Cassandra sighed. "The child at least asks for what she wants. Demands it, of the soldiers, of you, even the Maker himself. When she is disappointed, it's honestly. She does not sit idly by and allow herself to be buried by her own mind."

He tried to shift, but her hands held him firmly. "I've heard this before, Seeker," he said. "You've been quite clear."

"Not clear enough, it appears. I've been too soft. I've coddled you. No more," she said.

"This trip was you being soft?" he asked, only half-joking.

Her expression didn't change an inch, and he realized she'd spent the day getting ready for this. Preparing to win. "Joke if you wish. Shy away from the hard truth of yourself. I'm a Seeker. I do not shy away," she said. Her eyes hardened further. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Cullen."

Whether it was the shock of her words or the lack of title in her address he couldn't say, but he only gaped at her. It hardly mattered. She kept talking without waiting for any input from him. "Suffering does not make you worthy. Purposeless sacrifice does not make you noble. Moping will never make you deserving of pity," she said.

Her voice lowered. "If you must quit, do so. If you can no longer stomach Skyhold and its citizens, if you no longer wish to shoulder the burden of command, set them aside with an easy heart. The world is settling. The need is not so great that happiness must be forsaken in its service. Even for a man of so much talent, who would offer so much. But do not pretend it is hardship. Do not pretend this exile is not your choice."

"You think I'm choosing this?" he asked. He wrenched himself away from her and began to pace. "That's ludicrous."

"Why else would you be reading messages where there are none? Insisting on interpretations that have no foundation in the truth?" she asked. Again, she didn't seem to want an answer. "You were forged to believe in suffering and pain above all else. You were a Templar in a dark time, and the Chantry's message turned dark to suit. Magic became terrible and alluring, and denial of it and the self was an honor above all others in the Order. You are suspicious of happiness in all its forms.

"But the Chant is not only warnings and exhortations. It's joy. It's celebration. They could exist in you as well, if you would stop convincing yourself you deserve to hurt," she said.

"I don't do that."

"You always have," she said. "Do you know why I feared you might succumb to lyrium again? Not because you are weak to its temptations. No, you have a strong will. The fact that you succeeded at all proves it. How many of your fellows who attempt to follow your example have done half so much?"

Very few, he knew. He stopped pacing and folded his arms, curious against his will. "Then why?"

"Because Ellana loves Solas. Not like the heroine in my trashy novels," she said with a quick grimace, "but with a love that is too real to measure. It's been merely distracting you, for now, while you're still in its center, but even your infatuation would eventually fade under it. This would leave you restless. I knew you would search for a new source of grief. Lyrium would have been easy. Only I guessed incorrectly, and now we are here."

Cullen rubbed his temple. "I've hurt people, Cassandra. Killed mages and citizens by giving in to things that never should have tempted me in the first place. You think I chose to do that out of some kind of sick need for pain?" he asked. Solona had stayed for him and died at his hand. Kirkwall might never have come to what it did had he given Hawke true freedom to do what was needed instead of wavering within desire.

"The Seekers aren't the only ones who failed," he added.

"You did nothing more than find calf love just as a Tower fell," she said. He flushed, and she said more gently, "We knew about Amell. You were not the first nor last Templar to love, but you are the only earnest enough to believe it was a sin that destroyed the world."

"It was weakness."

"It was strength, simply at the wrong time. Though you won't believe it. You've protected so many, but you see only the few," she said. She sighed. "I knew you would find a new way to punish yourself. I never thought it would take you so far as to actually leave."

"Why bother with me, if I'm so hopeless? Why don't you just go back?" he asked.

At that she growled and advanced, and he was sure she would strike him. He understood why she hadn't wanted to be the only one armored, now. But her fists didn't move above her waist. "Don't place me in that role," she said through gritted teeth. "I am not a channel for your self-sabotage. I chose you in Kirkwall for your heart. Your goodness. Your justice. They have not abandoned you, nor have I, but I will not sit by and watch you destroy yourself. You can be happy."

They stood in silence for a time, until she asked him in a softer voice, "What do you want, truly?"

The enormity of the question struck him between the eyes, and he had no answer. What did he want? Nothing. Everything. A life of purpose. A life that fit. Love without fear. Magic that was gentle and kind and welcoming. Friends. A home. All of Thedas to find the peace of an afternoon settled on the greenest grass by the coolest river.

Start small. He tried a smile. "I want to get to Honnleath before nightfall," he said. A terrible defeat washed across her face, threaded with hints of regret. He winced.

"I want to stop fighting with you," he added more seriously. "I don't want to end this trip with the alienation of my last -" She glared at him. "My dearest friend."

"I'm not fighting with you, Commander," she said. "I am helping you, by explaining why you continue to behave foolishly, and how you can stop. How you can find peace, no matter your path."

She believed her words. There was no dissembling on her face and no lie in her eyes. Cullen started to laugh, then, a strong laugh that shook its way through his body and left him howling under the blue sky. A pair of nearby birds chirped in alarm and took off from the trees, the horses on their leads swished their tails in annoyance, and all of it only made him laugh more.

Cassandra stared at him with a nonplussed look that did nothing to stem his hysterics. "What's so amusing?" she asked.

He gulped down another burst of laughter and nearly choked. "You," he said.

The effort of speech set him off again, and she waited patiently for him to subside. He finally did, with little aftershocks of chuckles. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he blinked them away. "I'm very grateful for your all of your help. Even if I tend to leave the sickroom even more bruised than I entered."

He kept his voice light, and she smiled wryly. "I've never claimed gentleness."

"Nor should you. I've seen your definition of coddling," he said. He sobered. She wasn't gentle, but she was trying. It was more than he'd done for her. And he hated this anger between them. He sighed. "I don't agree with your assessment of me, Cassandra, though I will consider it. I always do. But do we have to agree, to be friends?"

She thought for a moment. "It would be a rarity," she said finally.

Without thinking, he drew her into a tight hug. When she responded with her ever-present ferocity, the tears that gathered in his eyes weren't from laughter. "I don't know how to make things right with us. I try to leave, and I disappoint you. I stay, and you won't speak to me but to tell me where I step wrong. I'm lost, Cassandra," he said. She murmured wordless comfort, and his body responded to the low vibration of it without his permission.

Without her armor, her body was solid and muscled pressed against his. Her breath felt hot on his neck, steady and soothing, and her lips were so close to his skin that he could almost feel them. His hands flexed on her back as he drew her tighter. Just once. He was afraid, and soon he would be nothing, and she was so very real.

Before he could wet his own lips to press them against the place where her shirt brushed her neck, before he could beg her for the real comfort he wanted, her breath hitched. The sound shocked him back to the day before, when he'd insulted her past all decency. He had no right to ask.

He pulled back and looked at her with eyes he hoped were clear. "I'm sorry for what I said. About the books, and the other. Any man you chose would be a fool to look at another. You should never let him," he said. "And I shouldn't have questioned your motivations. I know you would never undermine me deliberately." His mouth curved. "You aren't that good of a strategist."

"And I apologize if my frankness, about you or others, gives you fear. I don't desire you to doubt yourself," she said. Her eyebrow arched. "You have little skill in accepting criticism."

She studied his face, and he held his breath, wondering what she saw. When she finished, she stepped away abruptly. He felt the sudden absence like a physical blow, but it was made bearable by the humor in her eyes.

"I promise not to pity myself until you leave," he said quietly.

"And I promise to control my helpful nature," she said.

They stepped apart softly within their new peace. As they finally mounted, he was struck by a thought. "You asked what I wanted, but I never returned the favor. What is it that you want?" he asked her.

He couldn't see her face when she answered, "To reach Honnleath before nightfall."


	10. The Gatekeeper

"Are you lost, Ser?"

Cullen snapped his jaw closed and looked down at the woman addressing him, but he was barely able to take in her face before his eyes wandered back to the distant house. House was a poor word. Manor might suit, but only because it stood surrounded by farmland. In Kirkwall, it would have surely been a mansion.

Its grounds were neat but not too tamed, and the long, dirt-packed path that led through them showed no signs of overgrowth or wear. The helpful woman leaned on the gatepost that fronted it. Likely there to close it for the night, he realized with a start. The light of day was still present, but it wouldn't be for much longer.

"Yes, serah, I believe I am," he said. He heard a muffled cough behind him and determinedly did not look around. Cassandra had been amused enough for one day at the constant backtracking and circling he'd done. He thought he'd known this country too well to ever be lost. But his memories were clearly not to be relied upon. If only trees didn't grow so bloody quickly. "I'm looking for the old Rutherford steading. I thought it was here, but my recollections must have failed me. Could you point us in the right direction?"

He thought back to his childhood home. It was small, rough and homespun. More than one night had found him and his siblings piled into the same bed to share their warmth as the wind blew through the leaks in the boards. Still, it had been full of safety, and his parents had loved them with a love as big as Thedas. He hadn't appreciated that at the time, not until Kirkwall and the orphans and the streets soaked with pain.

If he could go back in time, he would still have left. The leaving and the swords and the duty had been what he'd burned for. Staying would have cut him more deeply than going ever had. Cullen Rutherford still would have become a Templar, even knowing it all. But he might not have left so lightly, with so little understanding of the cost.

The persistent silence around him finally penetrated his haze, and he looked back down at the woman. She was staring, and he focused on her more closely.

Hair that was greying, but had once been a deep chestnut. A mouth that issued orders, not suggestions, and would always tattle on a younger brother for filching an extra sweet. Fingers that soothed tears when the small hurts of the world had come. His mind's eye erased the years from her face until he was home.

"Mia?" he asked, but it wasn't really a question.

Her soothing fingers flew to that bossy mouth. "Cullen?" Hers truly was a question, and a disbelieving one.

They held for a long minute, until he said, "What in the Void did you do to the house?"

Mia laughed, a rich and rolling sound that bypassed his ears and went straight to his heart. How many times had he and his brother Darren needled her, cajoled her, bothered her, until that laugh rang out over the fields even while she cursed them? She was different and completely the same.

"You certainly are Cullen," she said. "Only he would reappear after twenty years and open the conversation like a guard trying to close a case."

Tears were gathering in her eyes when he swung off of his horse, and he covered the ground between them quickly. There was a moment of uncertainty, confusion, when he realized how much taller he was now. She'd always seemed larger than life, his older sister. Larger than the whole world. Now she barely hit his shoulders, but her arms around him were just like he remembered. A few tears of his own escaped into her hair, and they both shook with the joy of it.

After a while, he pulled back and looked her full in the face. "You've shrunk," he said.

"And your manners haven't improved a wit," she said. She pushed him away and slapped him on the chest. "So much for gallant soldiers. Not even an introduction. I'm Mia," she added to Cassandra, who'd also dismounted and was watching quietly.

"Cassandra," she said. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Mistress Walker."

Cullen had known Mia was married. She had children. Maker knew she wrote him often enough about them. But it was different to know a fact than to hear a truth, and he was still reeling from the address when Mia clapped her hands together excitedly. "Cassandra! Really? Please forgive me, I must hug you as well," she said, and suited action to words.

Cassandra's eyes widened as Mia launched herself at the taller woman with an energy better suited to one half her age, but the Seeker returned the hug with dignity. Mostly dignity. She did spare a moment to glare at his broad grin at her discomfort.

"I didn't realize you were so fond of Inquisition leaders," he said.

"Oh don't be silly," said Mia. "Cassandra is a much dearer friend than that. Dearer than you, brother. We've been corresponding for years."

His grin faded. "Excuse me?"

"She's been lovely. You can't write three sentences together, and you certainly will never learn to, so she's been keeping me up to date. Making sure I knew you were safe. It's the only thing that's stopped me from marching to your grand Skyhold myself and slapping you across the knuckles with a switch," said Mia. She released the Seeker and turned back around to face him.

Cullen paled. Cassandra had been writing to his family about his well-being? His health? Had she told them about his addiction or the nightmares? The things he'd had to do in the name of peace?

Cassandra must have understood the expression on his face, for she broke in quickly, "Merely general updates as to our situation, your lack of injury, the life of the Keep. Nothing sensitive or compromising to the Inquisition."

He relaxed a little, but he was still unsettled. "And you never told me?" he asked. He was looking at Mia, but the question was for Cassandra.

Mia didn't notice. "Of course I didn't. You'd have thrown eight kinds of fits if you knew. You always hated the indirect path. It was better for everyone this way. And Cassandra's reassurances kept us all going, Cullen," she said. Her voice grew quieter. "You don't know how it was, sometimes. My little brothers, both off to war."

He spared a quick glance for the Seeker. She looked a little worried, and he remembered his promise. He'd only promised not to pity himself, but it had really been a promise to keep the peace. He sighed. "I suppose I should thank her then, for easing your fears. Though she's much better at secrets than I ever imagined," he added with a smile.

"I'll say!" said Mia. "I had no idea your relationship was so advanced. To bring her to meet family! She never said a word about it."

Cullen blinked. "Oh, no, Mia. Cassandra is my…" He paused. Usually it would be comrade, or colleague, or even second. None of those applied anymore. "Friend," he finished.

Until Cassandra put her hand to her head, he didn't realize how his pause would be interpreted. Mia certainly didn't seem deterred. "Oh yes, of course. Nothing announced as of yet. Understood. I won't breathe a word."

He clenched his fists. "No. You don't understand. I've left the Inquisition. I'm home. If you'll have me," he said. "Cassandra simply came along to ensure my safe arrival and will return to Skyhold as soon as the next Inquisition patrol comes through Honnleath."

Mia twisted around to look at Cassandra, who nodded. Thank the Maker the Seeker was a calm woman. Some ladies would have blushed and stammered at the mere mention of marriage, even to a man they didn't desire. Cassandra looked as cool as if they were discussing dining options.

Of course, had it been Iron Bull instead of him, she might not have looked so placid. Did qunari marry? If they did, would they marry humans? Cullen frowned. They'd better. Cassandra would want it. Maybe he'd write the man and suggest as much, after she'd had some time to talk to him.

His sister matched his frown. "You're right, I don't understand. No, I certainly don't. But you're always welcome here, of course. You and your guests. I'll give you two rooms in the guest house until we get sorted. Or I could have them make up only one," she said with a faint question.

"Two, thank you," he said with more force than he intended. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I'm not much good with a plow these days, but I'm sure I can be of help to you and your husband. I can also improve your defenses. Unless you have a garrison between the guest house and the servant's quarters."

Mia laughed and motioned them down the path. She latched the gate closed behind the horses and started the trek back to the house. "Someone told the Inquisition that we might need aid in the village after the war. Apparently you were owed pay you've never accepted. This was the result," she said. "Not just for me. A lot of people around here thank you in their evening prayers."

"Who was it?" he asked.

"It wasn't you?" asked Mia. He shook his head, and she mirrored his movement again. "I don't know then. Someone high up, that's for sure. I've never seen such eagerness in soldiers that didn't have their swords drawn."

He nodded to himself. Ellana, of course. Now her insistence on his coming home made sense. He silently thanked her for the gift. He wondered if he should acknowledge it or not. A letter at least seemed appropriate. And maybe she would write back. As he considered it, he frowned again. The idea of a correspondence held less joy than he'd expected.

A peal of laughter wrenched him away from possible futures. Mia was saying something to Cassandra he hadn't caught, but he heard her next words clearly. "He'll cause quite a stir in the village girls if he stays. All that upright, noble manner. Not that that's new. He disappointed more than a few of them when he left. But now that nobility comes with so much more handsome muscle," she said. "Yes, he'll be very popular. Don't you think he's handsome, my dear?"

Cullen was glad he was ahead of them both, and the heat on his face was for his knowledge alone. It only intensified when Cassandra said, "Yes, very. I'm sure your brother has broken many hearts. And will continue to do so, if he stays as he is." Her voice was heavy with meaning.

So much for keeping the peace between them. "Speaking of nobility," he called behind him, "did you know that Cassandra is actually Princess Pentaghast, in line for the throne of Nevarra? I hope her room has fresh linens."

He moved ahead quickly as his sister gasped, and he spent the rest of the walk to the stables in contented silence, listening to Cassandra try to fight off the natural deference of a commoner in the presence of royalty.

* * *

When they reached the stables, Mia dashed away while he and Cassandra instructed the stable hands as to the care of their mounts. Two servants arrived to take their belongings and lead them to the guest house, and Cullen shook his head. His sister really did have servants. The world had gone mad.

The house was small and neat and looked more like the farm home he remembered, though he was sure it wasn't as drafty. There was a small open area in the center, with a low table and some chairs near a fireplace, and a handful of doors on its perimeter.

Mia was hustling out of one of them when they entered. She lit up and swept her arm back. "This will be your room, Your Highness," she said. She wore an impish half-grin on her face, and Cullen couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"I can see the family resemblance," muttered Cassandra. The servant carrying her things moved past them, and Cassandra said, more loudly, "Thank you, Mistress Walker."

"Oh, please. Mia is fine, Your Grace," said his sister. The Seeker folded her arms, and Mia capitulated. "Cassandra. I left some food on a tray, in case you're hungry. Are you sure you don't want company?"

"No, thank you. It will be restful to have peace and quiet," she said. "Your brother speaks too much."

He shot her a look. Mia grinned, then moved towards a new door. "This will be your room, Cullen, but give us a minute," she said and disappeared. The other servant followed her, and he and Cassandra were alone.

"Are you mad at me, Princess?" he asked. He knew from the line of her jaw that she wasn't truly angry, just annoyed. Cassandra annoyed was the most fun of all. "You started it, you know. And you spied on me for my sister. Very underhanded of you."

"I did not spy," she said. "Your family had a right to the information they requested. As for the last, it would be rude not to answer a direct question posed by my hostess."

"The question-answering etiquette your many governesses taught you faithfully, I'm sure."

"Yes. As the Seekers taught me to answer honestly."

"I only spoke the truth myself. Perhaps I'm coming around to your Order's indoctrination after all," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."

He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "In seriousness, please don't spend the evening alone if you don't wish to. I can speak to my sister. She'll stop if I ask her to."

"No, it will be good. I must answer Leliana's report, as well as mend some of my clothing," she said.

"And catch up on reading?" he asked. Embarrassment flashed over her face, and that wouldn't do. "You'll need to hurry. I'm about to catch up to you, and I'm not going to wait for you to finish."

Cassandra smiled reluctantly. "I will do my best. Thank you for the reminder," she said.

It warmed his heart when the shame fell away from her face, and he reached out and gripped her hand in a comforting squeeze. "Do better than your best. Genevieve and Rolan are exactly what you'll need to inspire you to speak to Iron Bull when you return," he said. "I'd hate for you be denied their encouragement because I've stolen your books." And for one other reason. While he said truly that he would read the books as soon as he could get them, he wasn't sure he could take watching her read the suggestive passages for the first time if he had full knowledge of their contents.

She gave him an irritated look at his open discussion of her feelings, then released his hand and cleared her throat. "Shall we spar in the morning?" she asked.

His face fell. "I don't think I should. Not now that I'm a civilian."

"Nonsense. You're still a fighter. And you still need plenty of work," she said. She closed her eyes with a strange expression on her face. After a moment, she altered in a way didn't understand, and she lifted her hand to touch his arm. "Besides, how else will you earn the village girls' admiration?"

His mouth ran dry as her fingers moved ever so slightly across his bicep. "I don't believe any of them will be here to see me," he said.

"It will keep your shoulders broad for their future arrival," she said evenly. "And I will simply have to admire you in their place until they do."

Her eyes never left his, and they were the eyes of the serving woman from the town so long ago. They held invitation, clear and direct. But this was no anonymous woman, it was Cassandra, the one he shouldn't want.

Blood rushed to his face, and he wondered if this was another unbidden dream. Her fingers were the strong ones he'd imagined but there was the slight trembling of nerves in them that showed this was all too real. And despite that betraying shake, there was no fear on her face. Only understanding.

He hadn't been able to hide himself well enough, and she knew, and it was okay.

A rush of gratitude washed over him. And something more than gratitude, something that wanted to be let off the leash. But he had to be sure.

He stepped closer again, until they were only a handspan apart. "What about Bull?" he said. He tried to keep his breathing steady and his eyes away from her mouth. It was a real question, and he would make sure that she wouldn't regret indulging his weakness.

It was good he had. Hesitation fluttered over her, and he could tell she was torn on how to answer. He held his breath as he waited. Her fingers still drifted across his arm in distracting arcs, but he brought all the self-control he had to bear.

Eventually she set her jaw in the familiar expression of a hard choice made. "He's not here, Commander. If this is the last time you and I are together, I would like to take what comfort there is."

At last he let his hand move to grip her waist. Her clothing was rough under his fingers, but there was a small strip of smooth skin that revealed itself as he moved his thumb in slow circles. She bit her lip and made a noise in her throat.

"Good," he said. "Me too." He smiled crookedly at her. "But you definitely have to drop the title, now."

Just as he was pulling her closer, right after she slid her hand up behind his neck, and exactly as she was closing her eyes to accept him, Mia's voice rang out. "Cullen! Your sisters are waiting!"

He jerked his head back so quickly it made him dizzy. Cassandra's eyes flew open, and to his shock she laughed. He'd never felt less like laughing in his life. She tried to move away. His hand tightened on her hip firmly, probably hard enough to leave a mark, but it only made her smile. "She's been waiting twenty years to see you. And I will still be here tomorrow," she said.

Of course, Cassandra was right. But she'd only just decided this. He'd been fighting his desire for a week. She didn't understand what she was asking.

Then her words truly hit him. "Tomorrow?" he asked. He didn't try to hide the plaintive note in his voice as she finally extracted herself from his touch and stepped back.

"From what I know of Mia, she'll have you talking well into the night. I plan to be asleep long before then," she said. "Sufficient rest is essential for good sword work."

He glared at her with undisguised frustration, but she seemed unfazed by its heat. "Good night, Cullen," she said. The sound of his name on her tongue was lightning. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, slowly, and he held his hands still with effort.

She'd made it to her door before he'd recovered sufficiently to call out, "Good night," to her retreating back. Her hand waved, but she didn't pause or look around. How could she be so composed? His skin was on fire, and they hadn't even done anything.

Cullen closed his eyes and used a Templar meditation technique over ten slow breaths. It wasn't as effective without the lyrium, but even running through the motions helped. When he felt appropriately calm, he opened his eyes again and turned to the door of his own room. As he pushed it open, he said with dawning horror, "Wait. Sisters?"

The door opened on two smiling heads, one fair and one dark. He groaned.


	11. The Sister

"Where's Cassandra?"

The blonde head tried to peer around him and through the door. He took in the turn of her nose, the curl of her hair, and the glint in her eye and quickly shut it behind him. She'd only been four when he'd last seen her, but that had been quite old enough to be afraid of her. "Hello, Alice," he said. "Nice to see you, too."

His younger sister gasped and threw her arms around his middle. "Of course, Cullen! I'm so happy you're back," she said. She squeezed him tightly enough to make him wheeze, but she didn't seem to notice. "It's been ages and ages and ages. You're a giant!"

When she let go, he gulped a breath. "It has been some years, yes," he said. "I've grown a bit."

"So of course I'm glad to see you," she said. "But I hear about you all the time. I know you better than Mia, by now. And you can't blame me for being excited. You brought Cassandra with you! Is she beautiful and perfect, like I always imagined? Mia says she's a princess."

Cullen threw a helpless look at Mia, but she didn't seem inclined to help him. Typical. "Cassandra is a much better warrior than a princess. And right now she's resting, not waiting for questions from you," he said. Maybe she was already slipping into bed, curling up with Varric's words, running her fingers across the pages. He shook himself and looked sternly at Alice. "Leave her alone, little piglet."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "No one's called me that in forever."

"Maybe they should," he said. He looked at his things strewn across his bed. "What in Thedas have you been doing?"

"We were unpacking for you," said Mia. The smile in her voice had his palms sweating. What had he been carrying? Mia held out a closed fist. "What are these?"

She revealed the bag of bulbs from Ellana, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Plants, from the area around Skyhold. The Inquisitor thought it might be nice for me to have a reminder of the place. I didn't tell her that I wouldn't be able to plant them for fear of where they might spread."

"Why not? I have plenty of space in my garden, and it's quite well-contained. At worst I can plant them in pots, inside," said Mia. "I'll do that for you, unless you've grown a green thumb at the end of your sword arm?"

"Ah, no. Thank you, that would be welcome," he said. She was still smiling, and both his diminishing battle-instincts and his very rapidly returning brother-instincts were screaming.

"Genevieve looked at Rolan with fiery heat. 'I must marry the Viscount in the morning, to save my sister from ruin,' the heiress said. 'But for this one last night, claim me, my love. I am yours, until the sun rises,'" read Alice in dramatic tones. When Cullen spun to look at her, she grinned. "The handsome rogue pulled her to him roughly. He knew he shouldn't. This woman was a winter storm in summer, the roiling seas threatening to overturn the ship of his life, but when she whispered his name, he was hers once again."

Alice stopped and held a hand to her open mouth. "Cullen, this man is no gentleman!" she said, but her eyes sparkled.

"Give me that," he said. She made to pull it away from him, and he growled. "Don't damage it. It's Cassandra's."

She looked contrite as she handed it over, but soon another smile blossomed. "You're reading this for Cassandra?" she asked. She turned to Mia and clapped her hands. "You were right! Oh, I'm going to be sisters with a princess. How lovely."

"We aren't engaged," he started, but Mia's voice drowned him out.

"Of course I'm right. I always am. The woman is besotted with him. Anyone can see it. He's simply trying to hide it," she said. "What's the trouble? Is it because she's royal and gently reared? Too commanding? Too tall?"

He set the book down on a table and ran his hands through his hair. This was all feeling very familiar. Maker save him from sisters. "Her blood may be royal but she's about as gentle as a dragon. If I couldn't deal with people ordering me around, I would have made a very poor Templar. And I like tall women," he said. He tried to put a little battlefield thunder in his voice. "However, she is not besotted with me in any way. Her interests lie in another area entirely. As do my own," he added, but they didn't seem to hear him.

If anything, Alice looked even more excited. "She's interested in women?" she asked.

"No," he said, puzzled when her face fell. "It's a man. Another soldier. A very large one," he added under his breath.

But not far enough under. "Ah, so you're worried about inadequacy," said Mia, nodding sagely. "I'm sure she would overlook anything like that. She's very well-mannered."

Maker's breath. "I'm not talking about this," he said. He pushed past Alice to his bed and started organizing the haphazard piles they'd left while digging through his things. Clothing. Food. Personal items. Writing materials. Each item in its proper place.

When he finished, he moved the clothing to a dresser drawer and saw both women staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Mia. "Only you are clearly not my brother. He barely knew what a drawer was, much less that you could put things in it using any kind of order."

"The Templars emphasized neatness," he said. A thought struck him. Maybe if he could get them to leave… "Also a good night's sleep."

Alice put her hands on her hips. "Nonsense. We want to hear everything about your whole life since you left. And then we have to tell you about ours!" she said.

He must have looked horrified. Mia smiled. "Well, if you'd only written us more often, we wouldn't have so much to catch up on," she said.

"But you have children to care for."

"Brandon's already putting them to bed. And Alice is still too much of a child herself to have any of her own."

His younger sister was too busy giving him a speculative look to acknowledge the insult. "Unless you have somewhere else you'd rather be," she said. Her eyebrows waggled suggestively.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, sitting on the bed hastily.

They bounded over and settled on either side of him. "Everything," they said in unison.

* * *

Mia and Alice had done him two favors with their persistence. He'd been so exhausted when he finally slept that there had been no chance of sliding into the Fade. It would have been doubly embarrassing to dream of Cassandra, as his sisters had fallen asleep in his room, Alice curled at the foot of the bed and Mia draped over the chair in the corner. He didn't see how it could have been comfortable for either of them, but they'd woken without visible ache and dashed off to arrange breakfast.

The second favor became apparent when he found Cassandra cleaning and arranging their equipment. Cullen had half-convinced himself what had passed between them had been a waking dream, or his imagination, but one glance from her dark eyes was enough to reassure him. She'd been thinking about him as well. And they were a little nervous, a little less certain than they'd been before. The waiting had rattled her. It was nice to know it wasn't just him.

She fought a yawn when she handed him his breastplate, and he smirked. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Yes. Someone was having a - what is the word? A slumber party, next door to me," she said.

"Ah," he said, smiling. "I thought it might have been the distraction of dreams."

She gave him a cool look, then swung behind him to help him buckle the straps that were harder to reach. "Perhaps," she said quietly, and he smiled even more widely.

When they stepped into their self-drawn ring, neither of them were at full strength, but it hardly mattered. The entire farm gathered to watch them spar, and their awed looks, even from the ones who served as guards when needed, reminded him of how much he'd gotten used to skill as a matter of course. He and Cassandra were likely the best fighters they'd seen since the Blight. Maybe since before.

And if Cassandra made him look a little better than he was, well, that was a kindness he would try to repay.

* * *

After breakfast, Alice took them on a tour of the expanded farm, with his niece and nephews tagging along. Mia's oldest was Peter, after their late father, though he was neither so tall nor forthright. At fifteen, he was well on his way to manhood, but Cullen was relieved that there'd been no hint of hunger in his face when watching them fight. Cullen would have accepted it, trained him if he wanted, but it was clear the boy didn't have the heart for it. He was introspective, quiet, and loved nature and language. Cullen would still make sure he knew the right way to hold a weapon, but it was well that he wouldn't seek the life of a soldier.

The middle child was a girl, Katrine. She chattered enough to be well-matched with her Aunt Alice, but she was neither so dramatic nor so unfocused. Her questions were sharp, intellectual, and he quickly fell out of his depth following the flow of her thoughts. She wanted to be an adventurer, a healer, and a great scholar in turns. From what he could tell, she was already well on her way to them all. She reminded him a little of Dagna, Skyhold's arcanist, and he told her as much. Katrine loved the stories of her work and begged him to write Dagna a letter soon to introduce them.

The youngest was Alistair, after the King, and he was eerily like his namesake. He spent most of their walk making up jokes and naming every animal they saw, and the rest of it tripping over his own feet like a puppy. Alice saw Cullen shaking his head and grinned. "The youngest children are always the best, don't you think?"

"I've seen no personal evidence of that," he said, and Cassandra chuckled in front of him. He traced the lines of her back briefly. She was wearing a light tunic, borrowed, and the fabric was much thinner than what she usually wore. He allowed himself a minute of indulgence before turning his eyes and mind back to Alistair. "I was just thinking how aptly named he is. I assume Mia is an admirer?"

"Don't get her started," said Alice. "I think Brandon is slightly worried she'll run off to Denerim and try to enter the court."

"I think he's safe. His Highness is very much in love with his queen," he said.

"You know them?" asked Alice. When he nodded, she groaned. "Definitely don't tell Mia that. So what's he really like?"

Cullen pictured the other ex-Templar, settled and in love in Denerim with his Hero. "Lucky," he said. And no matter how Alice pressed him, that was all he would say.

* * *

They ended up at a pond a few miles away, one he remembered well. Cullen looked around in wonder as Katrine and Alistair chased rings around the same trees he'd climbed so many years ago. By unspoken agreement, the older Rutherford children had always allowed each other their one private place when they needed it. Darren's had been the hayloft, Mia's the flat stone in the easternmost meadow, and his the pond. When he'd sat on the pier and dreamed, he'd thought it bigger than any ocean could ever be.

He'd been on real seas since, traveled the length and breadth of Thedas. It still looked bigger to him.

Peter had the same look of happiness on his face, and Cullen wondered if he came here, too. He was just moving to ask him when Alice's voice carried across the grass. "Cullen had his first kiss here, you know. He was so nervous he nearly kissed her nose."

He whipped his head around and glared at her. Cassandra's face only held the suggestion of a smile, but it was enough to embarrass him. "How would you know? You were barely walking," he said.

"Darren told me. He was watching."

"Well, I'm better at it now," he muttered. "For the record."

"Peter kisses his girlfriend here, too," said Alistair. "I think her lips look slimy but he likes them."

Katrine and Alice both laughed. Peter reddened but made no reply, only walked away from them and stared out at the water. Cullen reprimanded the girls with his eyes, but neither seemed repentant. He followed the boy and stood next to him quietly for a minute.

"There's no shame in kissing a girl," he said eventually.

"I know that," said Peter. He gave Cullen a scathing look. "I'm not a little kid."

Cullen held up his hand in apology. "Then what troubles you?"

"Alistair calls her my girlfriend, but she's not. I want her to be, but she's just my friend. I only kissed her once. I don't know if she liked it. And now every time I talk to her I say stupid things, or get nervous, and then it's too late. And she's so beautiful. Everyone likes her. Maybe it will always be too late," he said in a rush of trapped words released. His face was resigned and defeated.

Of all of the people in Thedas, Cullen was quite possibly the least qualified person to give this boy advice on women. But he'd volunteered for the duty, and he would see it through. As soon as he could think of something to say.

"I need your help, Uncle Cullen," said Peter. Cullen started at the honorific, spoken so casually, and he realized they talked about him often. The boy shifted on his feet. "You've seen the world, known lots of people. Not like Mother, who just tells me it will be as the Maker wills. What should I do? I don't know if she likes me. But I know I like her. Maybe even more than like," he added defiantly.

Cullen knew better than to tell him he was too young to think of love, though Mia certainly would have asked him to. He remembered well how old he'd felt in the Circle. How young he'd been. He searched for the stories he'd told new recruits and found one to suit.

"When I trained, at Kinloch," he said, "it was on an island surrounded by a moat. Most of the time we had to wait for a boat to get us, but if the water was low, and the day was clear, there was a broken bridge of stones that could take you all the way to the other side, if you stepped right. Some of the young Templars went slowly, trying to know where to place their feet. All of them fell in. Their caution betrayed them. The ones who succeeded, even the first time, were the ones who didn't wait for certainty."

Peter looked at him in confusion, and he tried to clarify. "We'd all like to be sure of our steps, to wait to cross the unknown until we know we'll be safe, but love isn't always a boat over the waves. Sometimes it's stones under the water, hard to see but easy to feel. If you let the small part of your mind carry you, the instincts, you'll know where to go. You won't always avoid a wetting, if the time isn't right, but you'll at least have a chance of reaching the other side," he said. He thought of his past, all of the chances he'd never taken. He'd never even tried for the far shore. "When you're with her, let the next step fade away. Look at her as she is, not how she might be. Listen to your instincts. You'll know when to speak."

The boy shook his head. "I'm too afraid," he whispered.

"Be afraid, if you need. A risk deserves respect. But don't be cautious. Use the courage I see inside of you," said Cullen, lying with his commander's voice. Peter looked anything but courageous.

The boy's eyes reflected that same doubt, and Cullen smiled. "I've been a warrior for a long time. I know what bravery looks like."

Peter shuffled his feet again, considering. "Her family's coming to the dinner tonight," he said. "I'll try to be brave."

"You will be, Peter," he said. He clapped a hand on his shoulder, the same way he would a soldier facing his first patrol. "When a man knows what he wants, he'll never be anything less."

* * *

Alice shepherded the children away soon after, citing waiting chores in a way that practically leered. He ignored her, but only because she was doing exactly what he wanted. The longer Cassandra stayed silent, the more prominent she was in his thoughts. As soon as his relatives were out of sight, she strode to his place at the edge of the water and slid her hand into his. She moved her thumb in lazy figure eights across his hand, and he bit back a groan.

"I like your family," she said. "They're very open. Very Fereldan. They are not so guarded as my own was."

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his family, but if she desired it, he would play his part. "Yes, very open about prying into others' secrets. Please tell me if they ask anything inappropriate. I won't be able to stop them, but I can give them meaningful looks."

"That won't be necessary," she said. "What were you speaking of with Peter? It seemed very serious."

He pivoted to face her, still a little surprised that her eyes were level with his own. "Girl troubles. He's pining over his first love, though she's not yet aware of her status," he said. "Sound familiar?"

"I believe I've heard a story like that before, somewhere. Perhaps Varric wrote it," she said, smiling. She looked around. "This does seem to be the place for Rutherford romance."

"That was a long time ago," he said, flushing. "I was young."

"And now you are wise and experienced and advising others."

"Hardly that. I hope I did well enough," he said. He smiled wryly. "I mostly counseled him to do the opposite of what I've done."

"That is good advice, then. Peter is too much like you," said Cassandra.

"But he doesn't want to be a soldier," he said with confusion.

"Is that all you think you are?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "He's serious. Too serious. He thinks deeply and wants life to be more ordered than it will ever be. He'll talk himself out of happiness, too, if the world lets him."

He tried to glare at her, but the faint smile on her lips was distracting. The continuing movement of her thumb over his palm was even more so. "Lucky for me I have you to instruct me on the true path, then," he said.

"I'm pleased you have come to recognize this truth," she said. She squeezed his hand. "And he will have you for his instructor. What was your path for him?"

Cullen slid his free hand around her neck. He smiled at the flash of heat in her eyes. "I told him to be brave," he said.

He pulled her to him with a speed that surprised even him. He swallowed her gasp with the slide of his mouth over hers, and oh she was as soft and strong as he'd imagined. She responded with a fervor that only fed his own hunger until it was the only thing remaining. They both staggered as they clung to each other, warring and surrendering in turn. He walked back, still holding her to him, to steady them against a nearby tree.

Her free hand drifted down his back, light and delicate, until it dragged his hips flush against hers. Cullen moaned into her mouth as he felt himself hardening. He spent a moment wondering if his quick reaction revealed too much about his long abstinence, but there was no time for thought when her mouth was inviting him deeper. Everything faded in the face of the physical sensations, and he couldn't believe he'd been without them for so long.

It seemed like they stayed that way for hours, a snarled ball of mutual need. He barely noticed when her fingers worked their way under his shirt. He was lost in the short hair twisting between his fingers, the sweetness of the mouth pressing against his, the hard muscle under his fingers, and the heat of her core rocking against him in steady rhythm. There was no room inside him to hold it all, and the wanting built with undeniable force. He was reaching a point of no return.

Maker, but she felt amazing.

Still, even though there was no one else around, this was still too public. He couldn't take her here, the way his body wanted, with the world watching on. But worse was the growing fear he might simply come in his pants, like an inexperienced youth. Cullen started to ease the pressure of his mouth, trying to draw back, when her questing fingers abandoned the planes of his stomach and unsnapped the first button of his trousers.

He jerked away in self-preservation and was rewarded with pain as he hit the tree. "No," he said, breathing heavily. "Cassandra, you can't. I'm too close."

"Good," she said.

Her hand followed his hips easily, adroitly undoing the rest of the fastenings. Her long, slender fingers reached under his smalls and brushed his cock. He whimpered.

"Please," he said, struggling to hold on. "We're outside. I can't…"

She stepped closer to him, trapping her arm between them but also shielding what she was doing from anyone who wasn't right next to them. Her hand stroked him while she planted soft kisses on his jaw. "Let me, Cullen."

Her voice shook, just a little, and that more than anything almost took him over the edge. He closed his eyes. "It's cheating to use my name," he groaned, but he didn't try to stop her. He was so hard, and her hand was just right around him. She knew exactly when to push and when to slow down, when he needed more and when he wanted the anticipation of it. He held tightly to her, too desperate to do anything but submit.

Without warning, he was thrusting into her fist, caught up in the end before he knew it was starting. Cassandra dropped to her knees, pushing his clothing aside just enough to wrap her lips around him, and it shocked and aroused him beyond thought. He exploded into her with a hoarse cry. She held him through it, her hands around his clothed thighs, and he didn't know why that felt even better than her mouth.

When he was finished, his legs were too wobbly to support him. He sank to the ground next to her with a sigh. He should make himself decent, he knew, but he didn't seem to have the energy to cover himself. He summoned the last of what he could find to calm his breathing and pull her against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said into her hair.

"For what?" she asked. The surprise in her voice was evident.

"You didn't get much out of that."

"I'm content."

He frowned. Contentment wasn't happiness. "That's not enough," he said. "I don't want you to think…" That this was just his enjoyment. Just something he was taking from her, like a stranger would. He'd never been with anyone outside of brothels and quick, hidden couplings, but Varric's books had told him there were other ways for a woman to be pleased. "What can I do?"

"Nothing now," she said. She threaded her fingers through his, her grip strong and comforting. "This was satisfying. But I will be composing several reports to the Inquisition tonight. I'll need privacy. And I'd have your help, if you'll give it."

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "Gladly."

"Thank you, Cullen," she said with emphasis, and he grinned. He let her go and finally readjusted his clothing. They sat in silence, watching the mayflies dance across his pond and through the flowers of the shore while the world wound itself into their peace.


	12. The Niece

"Uncle Cullen, are you watching?"

Cullen snapped his head back to the table. "Yes, I'm watching," he said quickly. Katrine had lain out most of her food in a complicated pattern on her plate, demonstrating the magic inherent in a fire rune and how it could be used for something that seemed even more dangerous. Cullen knew where he stood with a good sword. He also knew where he stood when an arcanist worked her particular brand of business - very far away.

His niece continued to talk herself blue, and even if he hadn't been hopelessly lost he might not have been able to pay attention. He had far too many sightlines to cover for a dinner.

Peter sat across the table from him, speaking infrequently but almost exclusively to his neighbor, Deanna. Cullen didn't need the boy's confidences to know that he burned for her. The stammering and blushing were familiar enough to make his own cheeks color, and he cursed Cassandra for being more right than she knew about their similarities. Cassandra was another distraction, speaking seriously to Deanna about mercenary life. When he'd suggested she help the girl in conversation, he hadn't meant for her to stump for a dangerous life on the road. Nor would he have expected the girl to be so interested.

Deanna was a surprise in many ways. Rather than the waif-like sprite he'd envisioned, she was the true daughter of a farmer, strong in body and mind. There was nothing of the ethereal about her. She spoke decisively and with cool consideration. The lines of her jaw were striking, and her eyes clear, but she was far from the evasive beauty Peter had implied.

Cassandra had taken to her like a long-lost sister, of course.

He cleared his throat when there was a pause in their discussion. The Seeker rolled her eyes without looking at him and abruptly switched the topic to Peter's virtues. His nephew rubbed the back of his reddening neck while Deanna showed puzzlement, and Cullen prayed to the Maker to save them all.

Katrine was still talking, and he turned enough of his attention back to her to nod and murmur agreement to her last question. His duties satisfied, he moved his eyes to another target, Mia's husband. Brandon Walker was, by all accounts, a superlative husband, but Cullen knew that a brother never took such things on faith. Besides, from what he remembered, the boy had been an inveterate follower, always trailing the three Rutherfords like a lost duckling following a flock of geese. Mia probably ran roughshod over him.

Intermittent observation revealed him to be devoted, at least. He never looked at a servant girl or any of the young ladies of the group, and his hand rested more and more often behind Mia's chair as the dinner went on and the wine flowed. His sister did drive the conversation at their part of the table, overriding nearly everyone with her own opinions, but Cullen watched Brandon gently steer her when needed, through touches and whispers that Mia didn't seem to notice were part of a clever dance.

Nothing to worry about there. The man loved his sister and was better at working with her than Cullen would ever be. Bless him.

A burst of raucous laughter came from the far end of the table, but he steadfastly ignored that particular section. The so-called young blood of the party had clustered there immediately, Alice included. They'd cast him several inviting glances before he'd hastily claimed a place with the children, citing a need to make up for lost time with them. The party had at least been too polite to press, but he'd noticed one woman in particular had risen to retrieve something from his end of the table too often to be chance. She did so again now, and the look in eyes when she leaned across him to claim a butter dish reminded him of Dorian, only without the Tevinter man's reassuring self-awareness.

Cullen was starting to understand what it might mean to be an unattached man slightly past his prime in Honnleath. Like a cattle auction with silent, hungry bidders.

His sisters were no help. Alice was good-naturedly flirting with the entire table, and Mia's every look told him he was being punished for not announcing his non-existent engagement to Cassandra. Fine. He'd endured worse than this at state dinners. He looked at Katrine after the woman left and asked, with only a hint of pain, "And what about ice runes?"

She started speaking with even more enthusiasm, but he'd barely taken in ten words before a voice boomed behind him, "Come now, this is no way to spend a dinner party, speaking of magic like soft men in robes. Commander, tell us of the glories of war!"

Cullen turned slowly. He saw Cassandra glance at him sharply as he did, and he tried to convey with only a tilt of his head that he was in control. A swarthy man, one he hadn't met, was leaning across their shared neighbor to speak to him. "War is rarely glorious, for either side," said Cullen. "And it's no longer Commander."

"Once a military man, always a military man, that's what I say. I should know! Balen Goldward, at your service. Former Captain Goldward, I should say. Guard captain in the Free Marches, before my sister and I moved to friendlier climes," he said. He leered as he extended his hand, "She's taken a liking to you, I think. Quite anxious to acquaint herself with this side of the table, I've noticed!"

To Cullen's horror, the man winked as they shook, and he steadfastly hoped this wasn't the start of a marriage offer. "Why come here instead of join the Inquisition? We can always use a man of skill in her armies," said Cullen.

"Considered it, considered it. Might have considered it harder if I'd known you had ladies like that in your ranks," he said, nodding to Cassandra. "She's enough to get a man to attention in the morning!" He spoke in a voice loud enough to carry to Antiva, and only the fact that Cullen knew Cassandra could have easily beaten the louse to death with her soup spoon stopped him from a dinnertime assault. He spared her a quick glance, but aside from a pursing of her mouth, there was no reaction.

Goldward seemed not to notice their discomfort. "But no, we thought it might be best to stay out of that particular fold. No offense to you, Commander. Heard nothing but fine things about your leadership, but, well, it never turns out well for a woman to rule the roost!" he said, winking again. "They can't keep their heads about them in a crisis."

Oh, well that would do it. Cassandra had sometimes taken comments on her physical attributes with a weary equanimity, but having her or her gender's competence questioned was a guaranteed way to raise her ire. And he certainly wasn't going to stop her.

When nothing happened, he looked at her again. Her mouth was even tighter, but she was focusing on Deanna's words so fiercely he wondered if she was memorizing them. What was she doing? He'd seen her verbally eviscerate a man for suggesting she had a flaw in her shield work that had actually existed. Balen Goldward should be bleeding on the floor.

She met his eyes and shook her head before turning back to the girl. He understood immediately. She was keeping the peace. He was going to stay here, and a brawl with his sisters' dinner guest was no way to enter society. Cassandra was taking the insult in silence to protect him, with everyone watching.

To the Void with that. "The Inquisitor is better suited to rule than any man I know," he said. "I couldn't do her job. You certainly couldn't. Cassandra could," he said, jerking his head towards her. "Then again, Cassandra has done my job and her own at the same time for months, so perhaps she's not a fair example."

Goldward looked incredulous. "You don't have to toe the party line anymore, Commander. Even if the Inquisitor did have the stones to deserve the title, and we know she doesn't, you can't expect solid leadership out of a mage. And a knife-ear at that. Fought enough of them in the Marches. Their mages are even worse than the normal ones," he said, shaking his head.

Cullen pounded his fist on the table hard enough to topple his wineglass. It shattered by his hand, and the contents dripped over the edge of the table like fresh blood. The already hushed room fell deathly silent. "Peter, Katrine, Alistair, please leave," he said. "And if I ever hear any of you use that term, to anyone, under any circumstances, I will take a stripe out of you for it. Do you understand me?"

His eyes never left the former captain, but he heard their murmured assent and the scraping of the chairs as they stood. Mia opened her mouth, but shut it at Brandon's touch.

When he turned around to make sure they truly did understand, Alistair's eyes were as wide as gold pieces. Regret touched him. His youngest nephew might never feel easy with him again, but their civility was more important than his comfort. Deanna remained seated, but Cassandra motioned her to follow. Peter took her hand as they went through the door, and that was the only thing that kept Cullen from tipping over the edge of violence.

That and Cassandra's support. He looked at her for a long moment and was satisfied when he saw her fury, and acceptance of his, reflected in her eyes. Skyhold, the Inquisition, had moved so far beyond racial animus that it was a shock to still encounter it. To the Inquisition, enemies were enemies, and friends were friends, and their shapes were irrelevant. Except Tevinter, he allowed himself. That was proving a difficult path for Dorian. But elves in particular were accepted, trusted, and esteemed, thanks to Ellana and their other allies. And thanks to him and Cassandra. Whenever a recruit came in who didn't understand the concept of earning worth, it was either driven out of her or she was driven out by them both.

This man wasn't his recruit, but he could damn well scare the piss out of him. "You, serah," he said with steely emphasis, "are not my kin, and so I will not take the same stripe out of you."

"I'd be pleased to meet you on any field you chose," said Balen. Stupidly.

Cullen shook his head. "You don't want to fight me. It would be to your death," he said. Someone at the end of the table gasped, likely his sister, and he smiled slightly. "You've insulted the most powerful person in Thedas. More importantly, you've insulted my friend. This is not something I take lightly. That you are a guest in my sister's home is the only reason you still draw breath."

He didn't execute people for insults, no matter how they deserved it, but no one here knew that. He saw other guests shift uncomfortably, and the woman next to him tried to move away without making a noise. No, the people here didn't understand what lived under the skin of a soldier.

The man glared at him, clearly not repentant. Cullen wouldn't demand an apology. A forced apology was worse than none at all. But the lesson needed to stick. Cullen leaned forward, making sure that the muscles of his arms flexed clearly through his clothing. He was still half a head taller than Goldward, even seated, and in much better shape. "If others of the Inquisition were here, they would not be so forgiving. Think of that before you share your ignorance in company. The Dalish are worth a thousand of you. The Inquisitor is beyond compare. Leave, or learn why my sword hand is so calloused."

Balen pushed his chair back, muttering, and Cullen didn't try to stop him. His flirtatious sister joined him, pale and unsmiling, and they left without another word.

He sighed and rubbed his temple, suddenly too aware of the eyes on him and his lack of things to say. The rise of so much anger had drained him, and he was in no mood to smooth things over.

Mia broke the silence. "What is the Inquisitor like, Cullen?" she asked hesitantly. "We hear so many stories but few truths."

What was the Inquisitor like? A week ago, he would have said she was quiet beauty, strength without compare, a soothing balm for a troubled heart. Yesterday he would have said she was a skilled manipulator, a master of strategy, and a ruthless leader who could never be denied. He had no idea what he would say tonight.

Cassandra spoke for him. "She's brave. Whether it is the gift of her people or of herself, she never complains of suffering. Her compassion is such that she wants to help everyone she meets, but she is shy of strangers. She is very direct in her thinking. She grasps the heart of a person easily, but her attempts to soothe their woes often lead to disaster. She is beautiful, especially when she works her magic. She loves to laugh and has closed down the tavern more than once with a round of song. She enjoys pranks. Skyhold is often the scene of designed embarrassments for its notable citizens," she said. She looked at him with a small smile. "Only a few months ago, she managed to trick the Commander into entering a formal dinner in his nightclothes."

He gaped as the room laughed, a little nervously. "That was her? I thought it was Sera!"

"Ellana was quite proud that it was entirely her own idea," she said. "She bragged of it to everyone. I believe another trick was being considered before we left."

"I always thought she was so serious," he said, baffled.

Cassandra shrugged. "When she is at work, she is. The Inquisitor must be serious," she said. "But Ellana? Hardly ever."

Mia smiled, and he leaned back in his chair and released what anger he could. "I suppose there's always something new to learn," he said. "Tell your stories of truth, Lady Seeker."

* * *

When they excused themselves with the pretext of the Inquisition letters, the moon was mostly hidden under clouds and the world was dark. They'd spent the rest of the evening trading off stories of the Inquisition's members, Cassandra injecting a humor that settled the guests and made them a little less afraid. And him less angry. The other guests, while sheltered, were predisposed to kindliness, and they found the tales of elves and dwarves and qunari exotic but not unnatural. Alice had remarked they were more human than humans, in some cases, and she wasn't wrong.

And when they passed the stables, he saw something that pushed any lingering resentment far to the back of his mind. Peter and Deanna stood sweetly against the stable wall, lit by a single sliver of moonlight, kissing the soft kisses of young lovers everywhere. He pulled Cassandra behind a wagon and peered out, grinning. "He was brave," he whispered.

She was less impressed. "We cannot spy on them," she hissed.

"Of course we can. I'm his uncle," he said. Deanna seemed almost as happy as Peter, and Cullen wondered if she'd been the brave one, in the end. He gave Cassandra a triumphant look. "And you said he'd think himself out of happiness."

"Yes, apparently that trait skips a generation," she said, smiling an enticing half-smile. He pulled her in for a kiss of his own. There was no moon, and there was no love, but there was this. It was what he needed.

"On second thought, I think I'd rather write some letters than spy," he murmured against her mouth.

Cassandra bit his lip lightly before she drew back, and his breath caught in his throat. She stood without looking back and headed for the guest house. Peter and Deanna never even noticed them, lost in each other, and Cullen left them to their joy.

* * *

In the house, Cassandra made for her room, but stopped him when he did as well. "Your room," she said. "I need to get my writing supplies."

He cocked his head. "Is that code? Don't tell me you're actually planning to write letters," he said.

"I do not wish to lie to your family. Go," she said and disappeared.

He grumbled as he did as she ordered, but he resolved that if she had to write, it certainly wasn't going to be the first thing she did. He stripped his shirt off and paced, fidgety and wanting, and when she entered he barely gave her time to shut the door before he was on her. He took the bag of supplies of her hands as he kissed her, and she didn't protest until he dropped it on the floor.

"Don't treat my things that way," she said, a little incoherently. Her lips were otherwise occupied, and his hands were already exploring the goose-fleshed skin underneath her tunic. It was the same thin one she'd worn all day, but he didn't think it was the cold of the night that was causing her shivers.

He moved his mouth to her ear. "I'm more important," he said with more than a hint of a growl. He bit the lobe lightly, but still hard enough to make her gasp. "So are you."

He stilled his hands. Where had that come from? Cullen tried to clear his mind, gather himself together, but her own fingers dipped beneath his waistband, and he pressed her more firmly against the door at the invasion. He felt strange and edgy. And not just from the physical want, which had subsided slightly after the afternoon by the pond, but from something pressing against the walls his mind. He claimed her mouth again, more urgently, until she turned aside from him.

"Cullen," she said. The magic of his name in her rich accents hardened him fully, and he made sure she could feel it as he stripped her shirt away. "Cullen, what's wrong?"

She sounded concerned, not afraid, so he didn't stop undressing her. Nor did he stop to think. "He insulted you," he said. He dragged his thumb over her parted lips, already swollen from the friction against own. "He insulted you, and you let him. For me."

Her body relaxed a little under his. "Yes. It was the easiest path," she said. She tried to look him in the eye as he removed her pants. He didn't meet her gaze as he leaned back to study her. The skin of her legs was pale and marked where she'd taken blows over the years. Her chest and stomach were even more scarred. She'd lived a hard life. So had he.

"You never take the easy way," he said, finally looking back up. "You do what's right. Don't compromise yourself on my behalf, Cassandra."

She smiled faintly, and he gripped her chin in his fingers. "I mean it."

There was no answer. Her finger ran over his chest, and he shuddered, whether from anger or desire he couldn't tell. He looked down and saw she was tracing her way over an old wound, one that had nearly split him in two. Taken in Kirkwall, against a mage who was half-crazed with fear. Before he'd met her.

"Sometimes we take scars when we defend," she said. "The soul is no different."

Her mouth followed her finger, and it was so like his fantasy of Solona he almost yanked himself away. But he didn't, because it was good. Better than good. "I don't want you to scar for me," he said. "I -"

"If you say you don't deserve it, I will leave," she said mildly, and his mouth snapped shut. She smiled and slid back up him, pressing her body against his. "Do you wish me to stay?"

Wish wasn't a strong enough word. If she left him here, like this, he would die. "Yes," he said. Her lips found his again, and he was still hungry, but it was a little softer. A little less desperate. He couldn't get enough of her skin under his palms.

"The bed," he said eventually, surprised he could even manage that much thought. They were bare and tangled in minutes, and the dark satisfaction in her eyes when he took her would stay with him for a long time. The sex was fast and rough, not by design but from necessity. He'd never felt so uncontrolled, but she met him at every point as an equal. It was the first time he'd slept with a woman without shame or worry, and his climax left him shaking and weak and wholly at peace.

When it was finished, she lay next to him quietly, demanding nothing of him but stillness. He closed his eyes and thanked the Maker, Andraste, and even the Creators for sending him this last gift. And for Cassandra, who'd offered it to him when he needed it most.

She wrote one letter that night, and he wondered how she found the energy. He dozed lightly, waking when she tried to leave and he found he wanted her again. When he finally let her go to her own room, he fell into a deep sleep, comforted by the knowledge that she was more than content, this time.


	13. The Shopkeeper

"Can I get you anything else?"

The shopkeeper's tone left no doubt as to what she would be willing to offer, and Cullen suppressed a grimace as he swept his purchases into a sack. "No, thank you."

"It's no trouble," she said.

He tied the sack quickly and spun around to leave. To his chagrin, he was confronted with another woman assessing him openly, waiting for him to introduce himself. He looked for another escape. Cassandra leaned against the door frame, watching him with an impassive face, but she made no move to help. Eventually he spotted Peter and Deanna making for the door, and he rushed to chaperone them with a mumbled apology. He tried to convey the impression that fifteen year-olds needed a lot of chaperoning.

He breathed in the air outside like he'd been suffocating. Perhaps he had been. When he'd suggested he needed go into town to fetch some items and see if his effects were being sent to him, this lengthy, social trip had not been what he'd had in mind. Mia, Alice, Cassandra, Peter, Deanna, and Katrine had all accompanied him, though Alistair was still too afraid of him to join. They just wanted to get a few items of their own, they'd claimed. It was three hours later, and they were no closer to done.

After a lengthy interlude everyone gathered again, and they set off down the street at an agonizingly slow pace. Cullen tried to stay patient. He wasn't the final authority anymore, and the sun was shining down on a lovely day. The trouble was, every person within fifteen miles had realized the same. The streets were crowded, loud, and full of smells that were worse than any battlefield.

Mia stopped outside of a milliner's, and he saw a cluster of women gathered around its counter as the door opened to admit even more. How were there so many females in this town? "Please don't make me go in there," he said.

"The brave soldier, afraid of a few hats?" his sister said teasingly.

"Just what's under them," he muttered.

Cassandra appeared beside him. "I do not wear hats. I will keep him company as you shop," she said.

Relief and exasperation warred within him. He appreciated the help, and the tactical awareness that had led to the offer. Cassandra knew his sister would insist on torturing him unless presented with a greater temptation. He and Cassandra, alone, always qualified. But it also meant Mia's disappointed hopes would be even more disappointed, when the Seeker left.

"Of course," said Mia without hesitation. The rest of them followed her in to the store, and she called back, "Don't get into trouble!"

As soon as they vanished, he signaled to Cassandra to move around the side of the building. She raised her eyebrows and moved her hands in her own signal. _Call for more soldiers?_

He made a face. "Yes, very amusing. Just go."

Behind the store, piles of crates stood as high as a qunari, and there was a gap between them which was hard to see but easy to slide between. He pulled her through and found a small hollow with enough space for them both. Once in, she leaned back against the building and settled into perfect calm. He rested next to her against the dark, cool boards and sighed in relief.

They stood in silence as the sun drifted across the sky. The smells were no less here, but they were different. Cleaner. His headache receded. There were no more scented soaps, no more fresh leather, no more assaulting perfumes that some enterprising merchant had imported from Orlais. Fereldan women had many charms, but sensitive noses were not one of them.

He rolled his head to the side so he could see her shadowed face. "You know I don't want any of those women, right?" he asked.

She frowned. "I have no claim on you. Nor could I stop them from flirting, if I did."

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "My bed has certainly felt enjoyably claimed these last few days." They'd spent every night together since the dinner party. Well, part of every night. She always slept in her own room, the better to limit the gossip from servants and the prying from his sisters. While he saw the wisdom, he still hoped he could convince her to wake with him once before the end. He'd never been bold enough to find her when he rose from his dreams.

"You must get used to it sometime," she said. "Whether you wish it or not, you will have many women in love with you. I believe some already are."

"They don't love me. They don't know anything about me," he said with a sigh. "They just see unwed and male."

"Don't forget tall, muscular and handsome," she said. He growled, and she chuckled. "They certainly won't."

"Where was all of this forward attention when I was sixteen?" he asked. "I could have used it, then." He knew he was whining, but he couldn't stop himself. Cassandra felt like the only woman, outside of his relatives, who was a real person anymore. And even with his family, once Cassandra left she would take away the only person who knew anything at all about who he was.

"When you were sixteen you hadn't yet developed into someone worth attending to."

"I'll have you know I was quite the catch."

"Of course," she said. "But you didn't yet have your serious, masculine bearing. Quality and allure are not the same."

He swung over her, suddenly hungry again. It always happened this way. He'd thought his need would abate as time went on. Not because she was less desirable. If anything she was even more attractive, more responsive, and more everything than he'd imagined. No, he'd expected it to fade simply because there was only so much a body could take. Instead it was as hot and strong as ever but sporadic, coming at times he wasn't able to predict. When night fell and she was there, that was obvious, but sometimes wanting would strike him as they walked from place to place, or clashed swords, or even when they were doing nothing at all but sitting and waiting for the next thing.

He pushed her more deeply into the shadows and kissed his way down her neck. "So I wasn't yet Rolan-like enough for them?"

"Do not oversell yourself. You still aren't," she said in a stern voice. "But it is easier to fall in love with an idea of a person, for women and men alike. Varric trades on it."

"How dare you speak of another man while I'm doing this?" he said, only partially joking. He drifted his hands to the tie of her breeches, but there was no reaction. He looked back at her face and saw only a forbidding look.

"This is not the time," she said.

He frowned at her. "No one can see us," he said.

She shrugged, and he leaned back, confused. He cast his mind over his words, trying to identify what he'd done wrong. She hadn't seemed upset about the women, not that he'd expected her to be. And while he knew he was no grand seducer, she'd never complained about his technique before. But perhaps she should have complained.

"I know I'm not much at this," he said. It cost him, but he took his hands away from her. "If you've tired of me…"

Cassandra rolled her dark eyes and grabbed his shirt. "No," she said. "Don't be foolish." She pulled him into a deep kiss, one that roared through him with all of the heat she always carried, plus some. Her tongue invaded his mouth, and he submitted, a groan working its way up from his chest. He tried to convey with the curve of his hand around her neck that he never wanted her to stop.

Of course she did, but she kept her face close to his when she was done. He licked his lips. "If you kiss me like that again, I won't be able to help but take you right here," he whispered.

She slid out from underneath him. "Your family will be looking for us," she said, not unkindly.

Her form disappeared between the crates, and Cullen stood alone for a long minute, taking in the scene around him. The hidden space he'd found was no beauty. It was dark and rotten, and it smelled of aged wood and dyes. The ground was scrabbled dirt, and even if rats couldn't be seen, they were always around. Of course this wasn't what she would accept. What woman dreamed of fumbling greed in a dank alley?

He'd forgotten that she was only placating him. Her physical needs were so much less than his own, easily picked up and set down with the time. Now he'd insulted her through that carelessness. Not only was this the wrong place, but she'd been speaking to him as a friend, which he'd entirely ignored. He didn't want her to think she'd traded a friendship for something so small as sex. He would apologize as soon as possible.

But just for a moment, as he followed her out into the diamond-hard world again, he wished he could bring her to the same insensibility she inspired in him.

* * *

Cullen was still thinking about it that night. Cassandra had been whisked away for female purposes, whatever those were, and he'd used the opportunity to borrow the next volume of _Swords and Shields_. While part of him chafed at the reversion to his usual loneliness after even a few nights of company, he was also a little grateful. When she'd told him there were only three written volumes left, he knew he'd have a chance to finish them before her departure, if he found the time.

Maker only knew what they were talking about, though. Him, most likely. And of course, the feminine conclave had blocked him from apologizing for his presumption in the alley, and that rankled even more. The rest of the day in the village had been in the company of others, and when they'd returned to the farm, both of them had been puzzling over the lack of Inquisition communication too much to talk.

He still didn't understand it. There'd been no messages, no word of any kind at the public mail house or the smaller Inquisition drop. He would almost understand if Leliana and Josephine were punishing him by withholding his personal items, especially since they'd seemed so unaware of the Inquisitor's plan. What he didn't understand was why Cassandra was also the recipient of their silence. Unless they blamed her for allowing his resignation to happen.

Cullen snorted. If that was the case, Cassandra would be livid. As though anyone could have tried harder to change his mind.

It was a mystery he could do nothing about, so he dove back into the story. Genevieve's marriage to the Viscount had never taken place, of course. A woman like her would never have gone through with it, but it hadn't mattered. The noble had been very conveniently assassinated before the happy event could occur. The world suspected Genevieve. She feared it was Rolan, who'd vanished after their supposedly final night of passion. And Cullen, for his part, was convinced it was the heroine's sister. Sisters were not to be trusted.

He had to chuckle when it became apparent that Rolan had yielded the field to his rival and gone off to face a heroic end. Cassandra had likely scowled and dismissed the rogue as a fatalist who enjoyed suffering. Cullen saw a prudent man who knew when to cut his own losses.

Still, Varric's hand was upon them, and they might yet find each other in the end. Cullen was fairly certain they would never know, given Cassandra's eagerness for the tale. If it was true that Skyhold knew of her feelings, and Varric in particular knew, the dwarf would draw the tale out past all reason, just to wind her up. Perhaps he could suggest she dampen her outward enthusiasm…

As though the thought had summoned her, the door opened. He released a tension he hadn't realized he was carrying when she walked in to the room as though it was her own, as usual. He'd been half-worried she would be altered. The other half had worried she wouldn't appear at all.

He sat up straighter, but didn't lay his book aside, the better to cover his nervousness. She tossed her own book on the bed next to him, then started to remove her shirt.

"Wait," he said.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is something the matter?" she asked. Her voice held just the smallest bit of doubt, and she lowered her hands again with deliberate slowness.

"No," he said. "Nothing's wrong. I just thought it would be nice to talk. We haven't been doing much of that lately." If anything, her expression grew more hesitant, but she sat on the bed next to him fully clothed. He cast about for a topic. "Did you enjoy your evening?"

"Yes. Your sisters were very entertaining," she said. "They had many stories of your childhood that I will enjoy retelling at Skyhold."

His eyes widened in horror. This was why talking was a bad idea. "You wouldn't."

She shrugged with a hint of a smile in her eyes. "You will not be there to stop me," she said.

"Wonderful," he said. He cast his book down and folded his arms across his chest. "Please leave out the one about the nose kissing. And the one about the apple tree and the dog."

"They didn't relate that one to me," she said. "I'll be sure to ask before I leave." He groaned, and she mercifully moved on. "I'm not sure I'm female enough for your sisters, however. They do not find me as soft as they would like."

"Well, you are certainly female. If you need someone to testify on your behalf, I have excellent firsthand knowledge," he said, then immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? What is this?" she asked. Direct and to the point, as always. He couldn't stop a small smile, though he squashed it as quickly as possible.

"After this afternoon, I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten that we are… that we are more important as friends. I haven't lost sight of it, though it may seem so at times. My manners were appalling," he said.

She looked at him strangely. "I did not think you rude," she said. She added, more quietly, "Neither of us have forgotten we are friends."

"But in the alley…"

Cassandra muttered something in Nevarran that didn't sound complimentary. "This afternoon I did not want us to be discovered by your sisters, who are already suspicious enough. This was for your sake, not mine. You must remain here, under scrutiny regardless, but it will be less if you are not believed to have a broken heart," she said. He breathed out slowly, and she slapped him on the shoulder. "You thought I was attempting to chastise you?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you've tried to teach me a hard lesson," he said.

"Well, I was not. But I am now, with words and not easily misinterpreted actions, you will notice. If I did not enjoy this, we would not be doing it. So now we are quite at peace, I hope," she said in tones of war.

"Yes, Princess," he answered meekly. She slapped his shoulder again. He picked up the two books and handed one to her. "If you don't mind, I want to read for awhile longer. I'm at a good part."

"They're all good parts," she said, relaxing, and the remaining tension vanished between them.

They both settled back, intent on their romance. The only sounds were page flips and sighs as Rolan and Genevieve slid past each other without connecting. Emotionally, that was. Sexually, they were still quite often satisfied. Varric knew his audience well.

So it was, in the middle of a heated scene half an hour later, he snapped his book shut. The sound was like an explosion in the quiet room, but Cassandra didn't look up. "Frustrated?" she asked. "The end of that volume will resolve some of the misunderstandings. While creating new ones, of course."

"Of course," he said. "But that's not it."

When she still didn't look at him, he plucked the book out of her hand. She grunted in surprise and glared at him. "What then?"

He tried not to think too hard about what he wanted to say. "This," he said, gesturing to the bed vaguely. "I always, well, I'm always very satisfied when we reach - when we conclude." He felt the blush rising from the balls of his feet all the way to the tips of his hair.

"I'm well aware," she said with a smile. "I am, also. It does you credit."

Cullen shook his head. "But you aren't. Not in the same way. Not like all the bones are gone from your body and you can hardly move for the calm. Not like Genevieve always is," he added lamely. "She's very enthusiastic." There. Cassandra would know that he was so lacking that he had to measure the extent of female pleasure from fictional characters, but at least he'd gotten it out.

"Not all women are the same," she said. "Varric is a man, as well, with no true knowledge of us no matter how much practical experience he claims. And he exaggerates." She laid a hand on his arm. "I would tell you if I needed more."

"That you could need more means there is more that might be had," he said unhappily. "I know Varric exaggerates. Maker knows even in our most rambunctious days, well-trained Templar recruits didn't have the stamina of this hero. But the end result is real. I wouldn't have known that before, but now I do. I don't like that it's for me alone." He searched for the right words. "It's not chivalrous."

She didn't laugh, but her smile was still amused. "That's very noble of you," she said. She considered. "I'm unsure how to ease your concerns."

"You don't have to say anything. But I want to try something different, tonight," he said. The heat on his face was verging on uncomfortable. "Nothing strange, just new. I only ask that you don't laugh."

"Very well," she said. Her eyes on his were nervous but not condemning, and when she lifted up the hem of her shirt, this time he didn't stop her. Off it came, along with the breast band and the breeches. When she moved to her smallclothes, he finally held up a hand. That would tempt him too far, and he might not be able to hold himself back.

"Lay down," he said. She complied, but gave his chest a puzzled look when he stretched out next to her fully clothed. He raised up on one elbow and drew a finger across the scar on her cheek. "Just for now," he whispered. He leaned down and kissed her.

She responded as she always did, hard and tempting, but he kept the pressure of his mouth soft. His hand cupped her face softly, and he felt the moment when she understood his intentions. Her head dropped back against the pillow, the fingers in his hair relaxed, and she sighed a little. He laid across her more fully, still slow and gentle, but giving her more points of contact. He needed her to melt. That was always the first step.

And surprisingly, he found his own enjoyment in it. The pace didn't bring him to that hard edge of desperation he was used to, but her lips were as soft as always, her tongue light and plying, and the skin under his fingers inviting. When his hand drifted to the shell of her ear and he traced it deliberately, circling it with one finger, she shivered under him. He pulled his mouth away briefly. "More like that?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. Her eyes were closed, but he didn't need to see them to know they would be smoky. So he did it again, and again, varying the speed and pressure until he found the rhythm that had her moaning into his mouth.

Cullen wasn't sure if this was melting, but she was responding beautifully, and he couldn't wait any longer to move on. He skimmed his hand down her jaw, then her neck, and followed it with his mouth. Some of her scars were silvered, others an angry red, but he traced them faithfully until he reached her breasts. He tried to remember what Rolan had done, but he found in some ways it was natural.

His hand circled and squeezed while his tongue played. The noises she made helped guide him again, telling him when he was doing something she liked, though they sounded a little muffled. He glanced up and saw she had one hand over her mouth, though the other was still running through his hair in time with his tongue.

Understanding dawned. She didn't want to be heard outside of the room. Fair enough, though if things went as he hoped it was inevitable. He tried to care that someone might hear, but he really didn't. The sight of her lost in so much pleasure had him aching. But it wasn't yet time.

"More?" he asked. She only nodded. He smiled and propped himself up again, leaning down to claim her mouth again for a kiss that was more demanding than he'd intended. She had to remove her hand to give him access, but she didn't seem to mind. A finger stroked along his jaw, and he smiled at the feeling of it over his stubble.

When he lifted himself away she hissed and tried to follow. He pressed her down, and she fell back, defeated.

His hand drifted lower, brushing across her smalls, and he watched her face intently for a reaction. He hadn't needed to. As soon as he touched them she whimpered and thrust her hips up against his hand. The fabric was wet to the touch, and the blood rushed to his groin as he realized how ready for him she must be. He almost abandoned everything to take her, as hard and roughly as possible. Maker but this was more difficult than he'd realized. Rolan never had problems controlling himself.

Instead, he restricted himself to pulling down her smalls with more force than was necessary. She helped him along, wiggling in a way that wasn't helping him stay in command of himself. Her eyes were open again, and the foggy look in them was enough to warm any parts of him that weren't already boiling. When he brought his fingers back to her core and brushed them across her again, she bit her lip against a cry.

He wasn't in the mood to spend time with gentleness anymore, but he hesitated anyway. He'd never actually examined the area of a woman's pleasure before, or even had the opportunity to. What if he did something wrong?

He started with what he knew, and drew his fingers down her until he found her entrance. It was wet and slick, and he had no trouble sliding his fingers inside. He watched her face again, aroused beyond all belief to see the color in her cheeks, the way her head arched, pressing into the pillow as she accepted the intrusion. He wanted to trade his fingers for something else, but from what he understood he could make it better this way. He reached his thumb up, rubbing at along her until he brushed against something that jolted her hips against him and drove his fingers all the way inside of her.

Cullen rubbed against it again, and this time she couldn't hold back her breathless cry. "Good?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she sighed. "More. Harder."

He tried to comply, and she ground her hips up into him, but he knew he wasn't giving her what she wanted. He growled, and she opened her eyes and smiled at him. It was a smile full of understanding, good humor and lust that cut through his core. It was the smile of a friend who knew him too well. It was also the smile of a woman who wanted. Who wanted him.

The look drove him to that hard, desperate edge so quickly he was hardly aware that it was happening.

Her hand moved on top of his own, pressing on top of his thumb with gentle pressure. She showed him what to do, how to circle and dip and stutter in a rhythm that soon had her hips bucking into him. Her hand flew back to her mouth to cover the moans and gasps, and he stopped his ministrations as he looked at her. "Don't. I want to hear you." She shook her head, and he said mulishly, "I won't start again until you let me."

Slowly, so slowly, she pulled her hands away.

He went back to his task, leaning down to kiss the tight muscles of her stomach, reveling in the pants, the groans, the calls of yes and more. They were enormously satisfying, and he was the one making them happen. It was his hands over her, his lips that were drawing the sounds from her own. He looked up to gauge her face, and her eyes were lidded and heavy. It was time to see if he could find more.

He crooked his fingers as he drove them into her. She cried out in earnest. "That's it," he whispered. To her or to himself, he didn't know. "Just like that." His thumb pressed harder, his fingers moved more quickly, and before he knew it she was at the edge, crying out words he couldn't understand but were like food to a starving man. He hadn't known how much he wanted to watch her come undone for him until she was tightening around his fingers.

That thought snapped his control, and he sat up to strip his trousers off. He needed his own relief or he would go mad. He'd planned to only remove what clothing was necessary until she weakly grabbed at his shirt, and he tore that off with a growl as well. The skin on skin would feel better, even though he didn't know if he had the time to spare.

"I'm sorry," he said as he propped himself over her. "I can't wait."

"Don't," she said. She was breathing heavily, her eyes hardly open, but her voice was sure.

He groaned, hard enough that he needed no help guiding himself inside of her. She was so wet, so ready, and he almost came right there. He held still, tried to breathe. He'd never been so aroused in his life, not even with her. He wanted this to last.

When he felt calmer, he started to move again, small movements that wouldn't destroy him. He buried his face against the crook of her neck and held her shoulders as he rocked. She lay still, but her hands roved over his back and urged him on, so he knew she was still with him.

He didn't know where the words came from, but they were on his tongue without thought. "You're so beautiful, Cassandra. Maker, but you are the most beautiful woman in Thedas when you come," he whispered against her skin. She shuddered at his words, and that spurred him on. His hips moved faster. "When it's for me. I could listen you do that every minute of the day. I've never wanted like this. I've never -" He broke off with a strangled cry when she wrapped her legs around his back and drew him deeper.

"I'm so close, Maker damn me but I can't make this… You don't know what you do to me, how good you feel, how much I want. I'm so sorry. I want you too damn much," he said, still flush against her neck. "Please, Cassandra. Tell me you want this. Me."

He could barely understand her words, her voice was so thick with desire. "Oh yes, Cullen. Please, you."

And that was all he needed, the affirmation and the name, and he was gone. He said her name over and over again as he came, and he felt her tighten again around him. It drew him to new heights, and she shivered in his arms as he fell apart. He held her tightly as he fought to keep his mind in one piece.

When he was done he tried to gather himself into something approaching whole and breathed in deeply as he looked for normal. While the smell of sex didn't exactly calm him, he still felt a little better. Until he realized Cassandra was still shaking underneath him.

He pulled away in alarm, shaking his head to clear the dizziness. He gasped when he saw that she was crying. "Oh Maker. Cassandra, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

He scanned her body with his eyes. He couldn't see any injuries, but that didn't mean anything. He was heavy, and he'd been past insensible. He might have crushed her, done something internal. "Where is it?"

She shook her head, still weeping. The tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks before she covered her face with her hands. "Not hurt," she said. Or at least he thought she did. "Okay."

"This is not 'okay'," he said, not reassured in the least. "Tell me what I did."

"Not you," she said in muffled tones. She sniffed and briefly seemed to find control. "It's like this sometimes, for women. If it's good."

"Oh," he said. He couldn't see her face to see if she was lying, but he didn't know why she would. He wondered if it was bad that he was a little proud of her tears. "I guess it worked, then."

He'd hoped she might smile, or at least look at him, but instead it brought back the crying. He sat over her, helpless, wondering what he should do. Hug her? They were still naked, and that seemed too intimate. Like they were lovers. But even if she wasn't hurt, she still needed something. Cullen settled for rubbing a hand over her shoulder in wordless sympathy.

It was the wrong thing. Cassandra jerked away from his touch and rolled to the side. She grabbed her discarded clothing, wiping her face with her breast band but putting the rest back on as quickly as possible. "I am the one who should apologize," she said. The tears weren't falling anymore, but he saw them lurking behind the eyes she wouldn't cast his way. "I did not mean to ruin this, for you."

"Nothing's ruined," he said. "And you don't have to go. Not while you're… I won't touch you. We can just sit."

"Thank you, but no," she said. She kept her back to him as she stood. "It's late. I should return to my own bed."

"If that's what you want," he said, lost. She nodded, kissed him on the forehead, then left without a second glance. He stared at the solid wood of the closed door and wondered what in Thedas had just happened.


	14. The Maid

"Ser, are you awake?"

Cullen blinked and rolled over. The sun streamed across his face in painful greeting. He winced and tried to determine the time. Well past breakfast. Possibly into lunch, he amended as his stomach rumbled.

For as late as it was, he felt as though he hadn't slept at all. Rest had eluded him, despite his exhaustion and the relaxed state of his body. He'd never seen Cassandra cry before, beyond the agony every warrior suffered before a healer arrived. And even if they had been tears of overwhelming pleasure, which he'd doubted more and more as he'd considered it, he didn't like thinking about her dealing with them alone. A dozen times he'd come close to leaving, going to her room and demanding she accept his comfort. She might not want it, but he needed to give it, or he'd never sleep.

In the end, he'd stayed put. She was an adult, more self-sufficient than anyone he knew, and she wouldn't appreciate him pressing on a weakness. The way she'd run out proved it.

He tried to remember why he was awake. There'd been a noise of some kind, hadn't there?

The creak of the door brought his mind to full alertness. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped himself in it. "Yes, I'm awake!" he called. "But I'm still abed. Please don't come in."

The door closed almost all the way. The maid's voice came fast and business-like. "Forgive me. But the mistress wanted to make sure you were up and about before it got too late. And if it pleases you, I need to change the linens and get the room straightened. It's the day for it, you see, and I've saved yours to the end but it's almost time for the master's lunch."

"Of course. I'm so sorry. Astrid, yes?" he asked. She made a noise of assent, and he rose, casting the blanket off. He searched around for clothes that weren't too soiled and grabbed the first things that suited. As he jammed his head through his shirt, he wrinkled his nose at the faint smell rising off of it.

"I'll also take anything you need washed," said Astrid. He looked at the door suspiciously. He put on his pants much more carefully, then assessed the rest of the room. He winced at the state of his sheets. So much for discretion. Perhaps she wouldn't notice.

And he would be the next Divine.

"Where is your mistress?" he asked.

"She and Miss Rutherford went into town," she said.

"Again?" What could they possibly still need after their marathon yesterday? "Did she leave any instructions for me?" he asked.

"No, ser."

Wonderful. Mia was still treating him as a guest rather than a resident. He sighed. "Is the Lady Cassandra around?"

"She went into town with the others," said Astrid.

Grumbling, he grabbed the two volumes on his nightstand. Cassandra had left hers behind in the confusion, and it was the next one in the series. It seemed as though he'd have plenty of time to catch up to her while everyone abandoned him. He pulled the door open and tried to make his face as pleasant as possible. "Thank you, Astrid. I'm sorry I inconvenienced you."

"Not at all, ser," she said. She glanced at the books in his hand. "I'll bring out some food here for you after I'm done." It was a question, and he nodded gratefully. He didn't want to risk spending the meal with the workers, who would rightfully wonder why he wasn't out with them, useless as he might be.

He selected the most comfortable chair in the sitting area, crossed his legs, and began to read.

* * *

Three hours later he was still alone. He'd had lunch, taken a walk around the homestead, and even talked a cautious Alistair into joining him as he fed the cats. The boy had run away quickly after, back to safer companions, but it was a start.

The farm was always busy, with people coming and going, animals being led here and there, and wagons rolling in or out. But Cullen knew nothing of the rhythms of their life and had no skills to help, and eventually he went back to the guest house. There was one book left to read.

He went into Cassandra's room without hesitation. Astrid hadn't said a word, but he wasn't blind enough to miss the new speculation in her eyes after she'd finished with his room. There was no need to pretend now. That he'd had company would be all over the place by the time dinner was on the table. That it had been Cassandra would be the only possible conclusion.

Both of the finished books went on her own end table, and he cast around for the last one. She kept her room neat, like his - no wonder, as they'd had essentially the same training - and very few items were visible. A few sheets of paper with crossed out lines, some battered quills and ink, and one overshirt were all that he could see. That left the unpleasant task of going through the drawers.

His mouth settled into a straight line. If they were going to leave him to his own devices, he would damn well entertain himself. It wasn't as though he was snooping.

He started with the nightstand, going with the highest odds. The top drawer held books, but only the old volumes he'd already read. He thumbed through one, remembering the perfect day by the creek when he'd unknowingly volunteered for the torture of following Rolan and Genevieve's story. A sweet torture, it turned out, but one that would likely not end today. Unless he found that Varric really had wrapped up an assassination investigation, a pirate attack, and a scheming great aunt all in one book.

As he read some of the half-remembered lines, something fluttered out of the book and dropped to the ground. His eyes widened in horror. Had it been a page? Cassandra would kill him if he damaged these. He saw nothing on the floor and dropped to his knees to look under the bed.

He sighed in relief when he saw, instead of paper, a pressed flower. He grabbed it and stared at it in bemusement. It looked like a flower from a plant in Skyhold's gardens. He hadn't known Cassandra was so sentimental about the place.

Curious, he stood and picked up another book. Nothing there, but in the next one he tried another flower rested between its middle pages. This was a Fereldan bloom, like the ones that grew wild by his pond. A few other volumes held blossoms as well. Another from the gardens of Skyhold. One from Kirkwall that must have been hard to find given its grimy, scrabbled soil. She even had one from Haven's frozen plains, one of the flowers that grew near the training area. He placed them all carefully on the bed, anxious not to damage them.

He was smiling at the newly discovered nostalgic streak when he opened another book to reveal a shock of yellow against its white pages. He recognized it immediately, and his smile vanished. A small stone squeezed into his stomach. He'd given this to her. Outside of the Seeker camp, before so many things had happened. Why had she kept it? Surely not because of him. Their time there had been nothing either of them would want to remember.

Cullen looked at the rest of the collection. Of course. She collected beautiful flowers from many places. Using the one he'd handed her was just easier than gathering one herself. And it was a striking color. There was nothing strange about it. But his mind was uneasy, dancing on the top of something he didn't understand.

When he opened the last book and a dandelion stem fell out, the uneasiness surged, and the stone in his gut was a boulder that he couldn't dismiss. The stem had no blossom, nothing to make it beautiful, but he recognized it all the same. It had been a whistle he'd used underneath the breathless, blinding sun.

He resisted the path of his thoughts, but his eyes wandered across the flowers against his will. The yellow offering had been in the book that contained the gallant speech he'd recited so poorly. The Skyhold flowers weren't just from the gardens, but were ones that had been in his office since his lieutenant began bringing them. And the one from Kirkwall, where they'd met. Of course, it was from the garden of the Gallows, the poorly tended place where she'd first offered him a position outside of the Templars. And Haven, where they'd trained, sparred, and became the final friends they were.

Or more than that, for one of them. Maker save him, what had he done?

He was staring at the stem in his hand, casting his mind back across the last few weeks, the last few years, trying to find an interpretation that didn't mean he was the worst man in Thedas, when the door opened unexpectedly. He whirled around, and Cassandra was there, obviously surprised to see him. He could only look at her in dumb helplessness. Her dark eyes ran over him, then the bed, then finally to what he was still holding.

The pleased lines of her face drew into sadness, and they stood in silence for a long time.

* * *

"I wasn't looking through your things," he said eventually. He didn't know why that was important, but it was the only thing he could think of to say. Maybe because it wasn't at all important. "I'm sorry, I was just looking for the last book and these fell out. I'll put them back." He turned away and fumbled at the blossoms on the bed, feeling clumsy and stupid. What was he supposed to say? What should he do? She'd looked so unhappy.

"Cullen," she said quietly, "stop. I will do that." He didn't want to look at her again to see the bruises in her eyes, but he did anyway. She'd shut the door behind her but otherwise hadn't moved. She sighed and squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry you learned this."

"They're just flowers," he said. Lie to me, he wanted to say.

She wouldn't. "No," she said. "They're memories."

"But you're interested in Iron Bull," he said. Yes. That was true. He knew that, and he clung to it. "You told me you were."

"I didn't."

"You did. I asked you, and you said he wasn't here, and that's the only reason why…" He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"He isn't here. It was the truth," she said. The sound of her boots as she shifted was muted and hollow. "I don't know why you assumed that I held interest for him. He's only ever been a friend. But I merely let you continue to believe as you already did. I did not lie to you."

"You didn't lie to me?" he asked incredulously. He threw the book he held to the floor and advanced on her until she was close enough to touch. "Is that a joke? Or just more Seeker rationalizations? Nodding at a false statement isn't lying, it's only a lie if someone asks you a direct question? Or is it only if they find out? If we stay silent, maybe the Circle won't explode, maybe the Templars will never spiral out of control, maybe the cad will never find out exactly how horribly he's behaving?"

"You're not a cad," she began, but he slammed his hand against the wall behind her. She subsided, waiting.

"You let me hurt you," he said. "I hurt you, Cassandra! You told me last night I hadn't, but that was a lie, too, wasn't it?" The memory of her tears filled his ears. Not from pleasure. From the deepest pain. He tried to imagine how he would feel if Ellana had taken her to him so casually, spoke in tongues of fleeting desire while he longed for something more. There were no words. "I never meant this to be anything like that."

"Of course. I did not expect you to."

"Then why offer it at all? Did I push it on you? Was this more of your help?" he asked. Anything but that. Please, anything but that.

"No," she said, furrowing her brow. "I wasn't sure you would even be interested. But as I said, if this was to be the last time I saw you, I wanted… new memories." She sighed. "I made the choice. My choice. If I hurt, it's not because of you. You could not have known."

"So you made a choice, about me, but you didn't think I should understand its consequences? Maker, Cassandra, if I'd known what you felt, I never would have allowed this to happen."

"That was my fear," she said evenly. "But you have nothing with which to reproach yourself. You've been very kind."

At that he pushed himself away and started to pace, burning with shame. "Don't say that," he snarled. "I should have known better. I should have seen. I knew this was wrong." Mia had tried to tell him. He'd even wondered himself, those small wonders he'd dismissed so easily. Because he'd wanted it too much. He'd given in to something he shouldn't have, again, and it had hurt people. When would he ever learn? And now his memories of her were ugly, warped and tainted like the Blight, and their friendship was gone. If they'd ever had one.

He spun on his heel and pointed at her. She flinched but didn't look away.

"Tell me this is nothing serious. That it only happened because of this trip, because we've been traveling so closely, because of those books. It caused my desire. Tell me it caused this, too," he said, even while he knew she couldn't. She'd saved something from Kirkwall, for Andraste's sake. As long ago as that, years ago, and he'd already been something to her he'd never suspected. "Tell me you didn't choose me for your Inquisition just because you… because I…"

His voice cracked, and he couldn't finish. He dropped his hand in despair. Tall and muscular and handsome. Those were all he'd ever had to recommend himself, even to her. Forget the demons, forget the failures, forget his broken spirit. He filled out armor well enough to suit.

Cassandra moved, finally, but wisely didn't touch him. "No. Never. At least -" She broke off, and the anguish broke inside of him at the same time. "The things that made you qualified are the things that I also… admired. One could not exist without the other," she said. "I could not have cared if you were not who you are."

"You didn't know anything about me," he said. "I was just a fantasy. I suppose that's still true."

Her impassivity fell, and she bit her lip. "No, it isn't," she said. "We are friends. First and always." She reached for his shoulder, and he slapped her hand away from him.

Fury coursed through him like a sweet wave. "Friends don't lie to each other for years. Five years, Cassandra! Letting me think that I had earned my place on merit, when I was only your romantic idea. When you didn't replace me, I thought it was because I had strength, but it was because you were weak. You indulged me. Hid my mistakes. Left the Inquisition vulnerable because you want the world to be a book," he said.

He knew it wasn't entirely fair, even as he said it. She was too devoted to the cause to jeopardize it seriously, but it also held enough truth to be deadly. He could see it now, how soft she'd been. How much slack he'd been cut. Hadn't he done the same with Solona? With Hawke? Even with Ellana he hadn't pushed as he should have, but Leliana had been there to make up for his lack.

He looked at her stricken, silent face. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. "You counseled me the whole way here to deal with my feelings for Ellana, to separate the woman from the job, to take command of myself for the good of the Inquisition. How could you stomach the hypocrisy?"

"And what peace does knowing bring you?" she asked. Her voice was hard now, no longer comforting. "What does it bring me? Or do you claim to care for me in the same way?"

His eyes widened. This was exactly where he hadn't wanted to go. He tried to keep his voice kind, even around his anger. "Cassandra, you're amazing. So many men would want to be with you. But I -"

She cut him off with a growl. "Precisely. I could stomach my so-called hypocrisy because I know you better than you accuse me of, and I have a truer understanding of my nature than you ever will. My feelings serve no one, and I have always kept them apart from my work. Telling you would have caused nothing but disharmony. But your desires were destroying you. It wasn't the same at all," she said. A quick, sharp smile rose on her face, and it was unbearably lonely. "And Ellana might have been yours, in those last years, had you only dared to try. The same cannot be said for me."

He had no answer. He wished he could tell her differently. That she'd hoped for the return of her feelings, despite her words, was obvious from the pain in her eyes. Cullen hated that he'd caused it. Her feelings and this duplicity aside, she was everything he'd ever wanted from a friend. He couldn't take her sadness.

But she didn't make his stomach flutter when she walked into a room. She'd never made his heart ache when she smiled or set it racing when her arm brushed his at the dinner table. She wasn't the song he heard in the night. He didn't want to protect her from the world, to be her shield for the rest of his life. She didn't need any of that from him. That was why he liked her.

In the silence, Cassandra reached into her pocket. "We stopped at the mail drop," she said. "Ellana wrote you."

He took the letter absently and put it in his own pocket. It would wait. "Cassandra…"

"Don't," she said. "There is nothing that needs to be said. I have always know that I was not… that I am not the right type of woman for this. For you. I am at peace with it. My skills are useful elsewhere. It is, perhaps, the right time to set this lingering foolishness aside."

Tears gathered in his eyes at the defeat in her voice. She should never feel this way. And now he couldn't do anything about it, couldn't even hug her, because comfort would be crueler than doing nothing. She'd been right. The knowledge was no joy for anyone. "There will be someone," he said fiercely. "There will. Don't give up."

"It matters little," she said, sighing. She looked so tired. "I did not mean for you to know. When it became clear I could not persuade you to return, my lapse became even less important. But I do not regret these last days, only that they now cause you distress. I'm sorry for that. And that I betrayed your trust for something so meaningless."

"It's okay," he said. And it was. He wasn't angry now, just drained and hollow. She'd hurt herself more than she'd hurt him. She'd compromised herself for him from the beginning. She'd compromised the Inquisition, and she'd cared more for that than anything. No wonder she'd been so desperate to believe he was needed where he was.

Cassandra moved past him to sit on her bed. "I'm leaving tonight," she said. "Orders from Skyhold. There's an Inquisition patrol arriving before nightfall. They should have just carried the message themselves and saved the mail," she muttered, so much like her old self that he almost smiled. But he didn't.

He wanted to say something to fix them, to make them whole before they parted, but he had no words. And she sat across a great divide, broken and quiet and already gone.

"I'll let you pack," he said, moving to the door. "I wish you didn't have to go so soon. I don't want…" He shook his head. "Write me from Skyhold, if you wish."

A tear ran down her face as she stared at the floor. She didn't answer, and the last thing he saw before he closed the door was a flash of yellow in her palm.

* * *

The patrol came even sooner than she'd thought, and there was barely enough time to get her gelding's bags packed and loaded before they arrived. He helped in silence, trying not to get in her way and failing miserably. He knew her body better now than he ever had, better than he ever should have, but he couldn't read it anymore. He didn't know where she was going, he couldn't anticipate her direction, and that was when he knew they were truly lost.

She wouldn't write him. She might never think of him again beyond painful, echoing memory.

That understanding was why, when the patrol came, he found himself in a corner of the stable, watching through a window as she spoke to them. She argued with their sergeant heatedly, but not loudly enough for him to hear their words, and eventually her rage cowed the man into acceptance.

After she said goodbye to his sisters and the rest of the family, she mounted. He watched with a heart that was heavier than it had been since the Gallows. He'd found certainty in the world there, a gift he'd appreciated too late, and now it was gone again. It was only him. He would never survive.

Cassandra sat tall and straight in the saddle. She scanned the yard, likely looking for him, but he remained hidden. He wouldn't say goodbye. He didn't want that word on his lips, or hers. If he didn't say it, maybe it wouldn't be true.

But when her shoulders slumped and the last light went out of her face, he knew he'd hurt her again. And this time he didn't have the excuse of ignorance. He almost ran out and apologized. Begged her to stay until they were unshakable again, even if that took the rest of time.

Instead he stayed motionless, like a coward. She wheeled her mount and led the squad down the lane to the gate that would close behind them. Torch whickered next to him as they vanished, a mournful sound that squeezed around his heart. Cullen stroked the horse's flank in soothing lines and fought against the emptiness. "I know, boy. I know."


	15. The Nightingale

"What in the name of the Maker do you think you're doing?"

He'd found the letter from Ellana in his pocket when he undressed for sleep. Mia had given him a new room in the house, either for obvious or not so obvious reasons, and he hadn't protested the reassignment. His new quarters were blessedly free of memories, save one. A potted flower perched on his windowsill, sprouting a new shoot from the garden of Skyhold. He steadfastly tried not to look at it.

He didn't ignore the letter, though. The fact that he was alone in his room cut him more deeply than it should have, and he was glad for the distraction. He'd tried to be more than glad, to feel the familiar rush of aching joy at her script, but there was no space inside him for it. Happiness would come back again, he knew. Eventually the loss of a friend would fade, as had the loss of his job and his home. But this was still too soon.

Just as well he hadn't found joy. While the envelope was addressed from, and by, Ellana, the message inside was Leliana's. He read her opening question twice in confusion, then settled back to continue.

_What in the name of the Maker do you think you're doing?_

_After spending far too much time determining that you are not in distress or the hands of the enemy and are merely suffering from some sort of breakdown, I can now answer your prior letter. Your resignation is emphatically not accepted, Commander. Return to Skyhold immediately. With Cassandra. A patrol is already on its way to gather you, and if you are not both with it when it returns you do not want to know what I will do. Obey me, and the Inquisitor will not have to know of this._

_Your place is here. Do your duty._

_Maker watch over you._

He barked a laugh at the last line, but there was no humor in it. Cassandra must have received the same message. Received it, known he was to be included in the journey, and not mentioned it to him at all. Her unheard argument with the sergeant, who'd no doubt been ordered to find them both, was suddenly clear. What was also newly clear was that Cassandra wanted him far away from Skyhold.

But what would she have done if he hadn't found the evidence of what he should never have known? What would he have done?

The answer rose up inside of him. He would have refused. Even if Cassandra had asked him again, and she might have, he'd unburied himself here. He rarely been this happy at Skyhold. Ferelden was peace, and home, and joy. This trip had given him back a quiet mind and a softer heart. And not even a wolf pack of eligible, circling women could keep that from him. Once he was past this last separation, this was where he would find happiness. Leliana would have to get used to the idea. Plus, Cassandra really would be a good commander.

He rolled over and put the letter to the candle by his bed, watching the words go up in smoke. That was the end of it, then. He settled back and stared at the ceiling, trying to feel the peace and home and joy of his new place. Trying to picture what the ceiling would look like, broken and full of sky.

A knock on the door roused him from his wonderings. He stood and answered in only his sleep pants, past caring who saw what about him. Astrid's eyes widened, but she only said, "Excuse me, ser. These were in the Lady Cassandra's room. I think she forgot to pack them. Should I send them on to her?"

He looked down at what she was holding and saw a book, the last volume of Swords and Shields by the uncracked spine, and a handful of carefully pressed flowers. Another lesson for him, he supposed. Finally one that was clear, even without words. No, she wouldn't be writing.

"Thank you, Astrid, but they were left for me. I'll keep them," he said and took them from her unresisting hands. After he shut the door, he carefully opened only the front cover of the book and placed the flowers inside. He closed it and laid down, then blew out the candle and stared into the darkness. As he fell asleep, his hand stroked across the last part of the story he would ever have.

* * *

The next morning he woke an hour past dawn, as he had since he began training twenty years earlier. His rest was over, and the work could begin again.

He sought out Mia and Brandon at their breakfast and demanded an assignment. Whatever thunder was in his voice must have convinced them he needed it, and Brandon told him to accompany him to the far field. They were planting, and they needed strong arms for fetching and carrying and breaking up hard soil. "Menial work," he said hesitantly, "but useful."

Cullen agreed without question and ate his own breakfast in silence. Mia cast him worried looks that he ignored. He'd fought off lyrium. He could outlast this. Besides, he was fine. He had a home and an occupation. He didn't need anything else.

The fieldwork was hot and grueling but welcome when they finally arrived to it. He sensed the amusement of other men and women as he did the jobs usually given to children. He carried bags of seed, walked the rows ahead of the plow and picked out rocks and stones that might cut at the horses. He had no skills, but he would give them what he could. And, unlike children, it was no problem for him to carry two forty pound bags across the field at speed.

That earned him some respect, as did his tireless effort, but mostly it was that he was glad to take orders, for a time, to save himself thinking. Brandon had started the day wary of instructing him to do anything, always phrasing his needs as requests. Cullen knew the man saw the sword he wasn't carrying, an ever-present ghost on his hip, and he increased his subservience because of it. No junior recruit had ever been as eager to obey his new sergeant. As Brandon slowly realized Cullen wasn't going to try to find commander status on the farm, they all worked together more smoothly.

He spent his lunch watching the rest joke and pushing away stray musings about how far the Inquisition squad might have gotten.

The afternoon grew unbearably, unseasonably hot, and soon they were all stripping off whatever clothing wasn't strictly necessary. That ended any of the crew's lingering doubts about him. Not because he was strong, though he was, and not because they liked his looks, though he saw a few approving glances. No, his scars took care of any lingering childlike aura around him. He'd been lucky, as far as warriors went. He'd lived. But that came with a price, and he knew that the next day, or the next, he'd be asked to tell the stories about how he'd received his marks.

Cullen looked down at his chest and remembered Cassandra's fingers and lips tracing the longest one. The next few rocks he pulled from the soil came out so violently that he almost lost his grip on them.

After the work was over, some of them went to wash the sweat and dirt off in a nearby stream. He walked the other way, leaving them all behind. It was a quick few miles, even with his exhaustion, and the pond was still and inviting. Peter and Deanna were nowhere to be seen, and he stripped and dove into the cool water with a sigh of relief. It was only a few minutes, just enough to feel clean, but he walked back to the house content. And no one was there to see how his eyes avoided a tree near the water's edge that looked no different from any other.

* * *

He fell into bed exhausted and sore each night. He woke refreshed but even more sore each morning, with a healthy sunburn that would tan over time. He grew a new skin around the last of Commander Rutherford, and Cullen emerged, worked to the bone but better for it.

Better in some ways. When he looked into his mirror, he saw that he was wan and gaunt under the red flesh, that his cheeks were more sunken and his mouth more lined. He didn't know if his eyes were duller or not, as he could never bring himself to meet them. The Maker was merciful enough to take the dreams away before he woke, but he knew he must be having them. While most of his body was stiff now in the morning, some parts were stiffer than others.

Slowly he became accepted. He told a few stories, listened to more of theirs, and shut down any discussion of his future marriage prospects with a speed that left him with the unenviable nickname of Cullen the Unfettered. He took it in stride, and in a way it helped, as the workers' jokes became an unwitting shield against the young women who brought them water to save the time of trekking back to the stead.

In only a few days, he was grown new, and the only remnants of his old life were his unremembered dreams, the flowers on the sill, and the eyes he kept on the horizon for the Nightingale's agents. Cassandra was certainly back at Skyhold, and Leliana didn't give up easily.

* * *

One night Mia wheedled him into a game of chess. He'd never admit it, but half of the reason he'd come home was to match wits against her again. He'd spent most of his Inquisition leisure, what there was of it, honing his skills against anyone who could play. He suspected she also hadn't been idle. Brandon's rueful smile at the board and the well-worn pieces she laid out with care only confirmed it.

They played in near-perfect silence. The tap of the pieces and the crackling of the hearth were their only connections to the external world. Cullen surprised her in the first game and won quickly. A ghost of a grin ran across his face when she huffed something uncomplimentary under her breath. "Gentlefolk don't use that kind of language, dear sister."

"Place the pieces again, dear brother," she answered with ice in her voice. Brandon rubbed her shoulder as they played the second game, and whether it was his presence or her ire, she played a bolder game than he was used to from his partners. It was close fought, but a mistake near the end cost him. She took his king with a smile.

When she presented her face to her husband for a kiss, Cullen shook his head. "No husbands allowed during the final bout," he said. He tried to keep his voice light. "It's unfair to the rest of us."

Brandon gave him a kind look. "I was just about to retire. Try not to humiliate him, love," he said to Mia as he walked out.

Cullen set up the pieces and made his opening move. "Does he play?" he asked.

"To indulge me he tries, but his head is better suited to organization than strategy," she said. She countered him, then added, "If you're trying to distract me with conversation, it won't work. I've played with Alice. No one talks more."

"I imagine it's an effective strategy."

"Very," she said. They played quietly for a bit, until she spoke again. "Did you play often in the Inquisition?"

"As much as I could. Which wasn't very often, during the war. It was easier after the Breach was sealed," he said. "Dorian, the Tevinter mage, was quite good. Josephine, our ambassador, played, and Leliana was in a class far above us all. I imagine the challenge of tracking only 32 pieces is trivial to her." He thought about how many squads he'd needed to hold in his mind. "Then again, it was to me too, by the end."

"Did Ellana play?"

He looked at her curiously. "She also indulged me occasionally, but she had little patience for it," he said.

"Did the two of you fall in love over a chess board?" she asked without warning, and his hand froze over a piece. She shrugged when he turned his eyes to her face. "Some things Cassandra said. Is that why you didn't say goodbye to each other?"

"I think you misunderstood her," he said. He shifted uncomfortably. Cassandra had been unhappy, enough for his sister to know, even in the middle of his pleasure. "There was never anything between us."

"Between you and the Inquisitor, or between you and Cassandra?"

He finally moved a bishop. "Neither."

She waited in silence, and he sighed. "I had feelings for the Inquisitor. But our relationship was never anything more than friendly," he said.

"Not that friendly," said Mia. "You seemed as shocked as the rest of us at Cassandra's stories of her."

Cullen sat back in his chair with vague surprise. Not a week ago that bald statement of his distance from Ellana would have pained him terribly. Now he just heard the truth of it. And he'd used the past tense about his feelings. So, she was gone, too. "I suppose not," he said.

"If you were in love with the Inquisitor, what were you with Cassandra? Her letters made it clear you were very close. She knew you so well I was sure you were sharing a bed," she said. There was no innuendo in her voice, just frankness.

He glared at her. "It wasn't anything like that." Until recently.

Mia moved a knight, and he frowned at the board. That wasn't what he'd expected at all. He leaned over it carefully, trying to see her plan.

"What was it like?" she asked.

He growled, but she only stared at him. He ran a hand through his hair and then moved his bishop again to support a pawn. "I don't know. Like with you," he said. He tried not to think about the thrums of desire that hadn't been at all brotherly. "Casual. Easy. I knew she was in my life, even if we didn't see each other for months."

"Why didn't you see each other?"

"Inquisition business. Ellana relied on her in the field. Cassandra's one of the best fighters we had and a better tactician than I am. They traveled together often," he said. He'd always been so terrified Ellana wouldn't return and equally glad Cassandra was there to keep her safe. He'd never thanked her for that, either.

"Wasn't it dangerous to have such a vital person out in the field? What if she didn't make it back?"

He stared at her in confusion. "Cassandra always came back." Mia smiled, but he hardly noticed. Demons had tormented him with her dead body often enough in the Fade, but the reality was that the Seeker was incapable of falling. "She's stubborn as a druffalo. Or an older sister," he said sourly. "She wouldn't have allowed herself anything less than success."

"Cassandra didn't seem stubborn to me. She was very agreeable."

Cullen snorted. "With you, maybe. She fought me over everything. Though she would call them all instructional discussions. She could hardly let me choose a practice shield without offering her own alternative. But it was good-natured fighting. The kind that had agreement underneath it. Except for this trip."

"What happened?"

"She didn't want me to leave the Inquisition. She thought I was running away, because of Ellana. That I was trying to hurt myself," he said.

"Were you?"

He shook his head. "But she believed it. It made the fights real," he said. He toyed with the arm of the chair. "It doesn't matter. I couldn't go back now anyway."

"Because you slept with Cassandra." Mia moved a pawn.

There was no use in outrage, not when he'd been the one so unconcerned with hiding the evidence. He nodded.

"Why?"

"Because she's beautiful. She's safe. She offered. She's impossible to deny," he said with a hint of a snarl. He moved another piece at random, too angry to strategize. "Or maybe I was just lonely and took advantage of her."

Mia blinked. "I can't imagine her doing something she didn't want to do," she said with a frown.

"I didn't say she didn't want it. Only that I took advantage of her." Mia's face didn't clear, and he gritted his teeth. "You were right. She was in love with me. Or thought she was, anyway. Some version of me. Either way, sex for me was something more for her, and I used her. Like the worst kind of opportunist."

"Did you know?" asked Mia. She made another move that he didn't see. "You never seemed to believe me when I tried to tell you."

"I should have," he said. He took one of her pawns. "She would have, in my place."

"Mmmm," she said doubtfully. "Why do you say that?"

"Because she thinks about everyone but herself," he said. "And I think of no one but me."

"Would she agree with you?"

He snorted. "No. She thought I was a better man than I've ever been in truth," he said.

"Maybe you are that man," said Mia mildly. She still hadn't taken her turn.

Cullen thought back over the last few minutes and realized how expertly she'd led him. The Inquisition could have taken lessons. "Why are you interrogating me?"

"I'm trying to figure out why you didn't ask her to stay. Or why you didn't go with her," she said. "You seem very unhappy here." A touch of sadness entered her expression.

He waved it away. "She has responsibilities. And I'm happy to be home," he said. "It's your turn to play."

She ignored him. "Yes, which is why you've hardly smiled or spoken, not to mention laughed, in the last few days. Your idea of happiness is very different from mine. And don't tell me that's just how you are, because when she was here I hardly saw a frown," she said. He clenched his fists, but she ignored that, too. "I'm your sister. That stern, threatening manner won't work on me. Write her. Mend this."

"To what end?" He exploded quietly, putting all of the fire behind his words that he could without raising his voice. "Even if I could mend it, what would come from it but another hurt? When a wound can't be healed, the only kindness is ending the suffering."

Mia looked skeptical. He leaned forward, biting out his words. "Cassandra was my friend when I was convinced I never deserved a kind word again. I don't know what she wrote to you of how we met, but it wasn't pleasant. There were deaths. I caused some of them. I failed to stop even more. I've never been lower. And she saved me," he said. He laughed harshly. "That sounds melodramatic, but she did. She trusted me when she had no reason to."

No reason but the breadth of a Knight-Captain's shoulders. Cullen shook his head and pushed that away. No more bitterness. At least she'd cared. "Everything I've done since has been in repayment of that trust. Every good thing about me sprang from it. She never stopped believing in me, for years, even when she had more than enough reason to. Even when I told her she shouldn't. Cassandra was always the one who knew what to do, who advised me when I went wrong. She was the best friend I could have ever hoped to find," he said.

"Then I don't understand why -" started Mia.

"Because I don't love her," he cut in with a snarl. "Not the way she needs. She wants something from me that's not in me to give. What kind of person would I be to force the duty of friendship on her only to disappoint her, over and over again? I repaid her charity with my feeble best for five years. I won't repay it with my worst now. And it would be my worst," he added in low tones. "If she were here, I might not be strong enough to hold off temptation."

He rubbed a hand across his forehead and whispered to the boards underneath his feet, "If she would have me, I would take her to my bed again, knowing everything. That would make me worthy of nothing but scorn." He screwed his eyes shut against his weakness. "I think she knew that. She made the decision to go without me. It was the right one. I respect her for it. I'll show that respect by leaving her alone. Even if it means I don't fit your idea of happiness for a time."

Mia twined her fingers together and said nothing for a long moment. When she did speak, her words were ruthlessly gentle.

"Let me understand. You're comfortable with her, more than with anyone but your family. She saved you and gave you the confidence to do something good with your life when you were worried you never would. You let her inside your struggles, trusted her in a way you don't trust anyone. Her opinion is the only one that matters, including mine. Including yours. You wanted her so badly that you jeopardized your friendship for it, and you want her even now. You're still punishing yourself for being a part of a sadness in her heart. When you're with her, you're as happy as you ever are. And now that she's gone, you're barely here yourself."

He didn't answer, just stared at her hand as she placed her rook in checkmate. She lifted her fingers slowly and touched his arm. He blinked away a tear and finally met her eyes.

She smiled at him affectionately, and the years fell away from them again. "Cullen. What did you think love was?"


	16. The Commander

Well, and what did he think love was?

The question lived in his mind as he worked his body over the following days. It pounded through his veins while he learned to drive a plow and a horse that wanted to be anywhere but in front of him. It rang in his ears alongside the yells of the workers across the fields. It settled around his heart when it slowed into the rhythm of sleep.

What was love?

A new leaf springing from a tree, delicate and exposed. Love was vulnerable, a mage in a tower with a Templar who yet didn't know how to serve the world. It was a thing to be protected, from winds and words that could shake it to pieces underneath their weight. Strength would break it. And Cassandra was all power, cording through her body and her spirit in undying waves. He was strong with her. If love was fragility, they would never keep it intact.

And yet she'd cried underneath him, trembling and undone as he whispered to her in his bed. He'd taken his confidence from her even on the days she was far away.

In the dead of night, a farmhand woke him. A calf was due, but the birth was going poorly. Cullen threw on clothes without hesitation and followed him to the barn. The children were there helping with their small, nimble hands, but his arms were needed to hold the mother still and keep the rest protected from her pain. He was no match for her, in truth, but he held with all the force he had to give while Brandon commanded and worried over his animals.

In the end they were both saved. Cullen dripped with sweat as he watched the mother fussing over her child. The rest of them headed for their beds gratefully, but he didn't go back to the house until the calf stood, wobbly and proud, in the stall.

* * *

So what was love?

Peter and Deanna, young and flowering into the world with the spring. He watched them work in harmony, folding into the spaces the other left without thought. Love was beginnings, fresh and light on rosy cheeks. It was tender and perfect. Peter touched her hand each time they parted, as soft as a kiss. And when he returned, each time Deanna saw him anew. They were pieces that fit together into a whole that was never the same twice. But Cassandra was constant and unchanging as no one else was. He was a well-worn fixture in her mind. They were pieces that were so familiar they would never alter. If love was newness and surprise, it was long past for them.

But she collected flowers he never saw and dreamed of him in secret. He'd come apart with her in ways he'd never known were possible.

Cullen ate breakfast quietly, but he smiled and laughed with the children as they planned their new adventures. Many of them involved his aid, and he had to swear to their mother that he would only help them if it was very, very safe. He winked at them when he said it, and they giggled with faces as open as a cloudless sky.

That day Alistair was ready to climb his highest tree yet. Cullen stood underneath him in the field while Mia fretted quietly in the background. The boy slipped and scraped up the bark, unafraid of the vast space yawning below him. When he reached the top and swayed in the puffs of breeze, they all cheered. Alistair spent only a few minutes clambering down before he jumped, wild with laughter, into Cullen's waiting arms.

* * *

But what was love?

The horse tied to the plow, an endless game of control and will. Love was challenge, a Champion who cracked the world underneath her as she walked with unquenchable fire. It demanded to be contained, to be bent to the purpose for which it was designed. Magic was made to serve man. Love was meant to chain him. But Cassandra was her own, always, and he took orders only when he chose. If love was dominance, they would never submit.

Still, she'd accepted his decision to leave even when she didn't want it. She'd given him the only pieces of advice he'd ever followed even while he didn't agree.

Balen Goldward and his sister rode through the farm before they moved on. They found this area of Ferelden very inhospitable, they said, and they hoped to find more congenial lodgings in Orlais. Cullen didn't bother to tell them that Orlais was no less under the Inquisition's sway, and the only place Ellana's distasteful presence wouldn't linger around them was when they met the Maker. And that was only because she didn't believe in Him.

The former captain stayed on his horse, the better to avoid the beating that still pulsed in Cullen's hands, but his sister was bolder. She slid off her mount and touched his bare arm softly, murmuring regrets of their lost time together. Cullen smiled kindly and said he wouldn't wish to forestall the pleasure that so many men would have in her future company. They left quickly after that, and he didn't regret them.

* * *

Then what was love?

Mia and Brandon, who could dance the pattern of each other's lives so cleanly that two set of footprints looked like one. Love was knowledge, deep and thorough and complete. It weaved two hearts together into something that could never separate. Mia fussed over him as he worked, keeping him shaded and fed when he pushed too hard. Brandon gentled and redirected her when she went past herself, touching her lightly to still the concerns of her heart. But Cassandra was gone, and he would never see her again. If love was partnership, they were too broken to join.

But they'd fought on the walls of Adamant as one, swords scored and bloody in the darkness. She'd always known what he needed, and he'd always known where she would be.

Cullen gave sword lessons to the men and women who were interested in the evenings, but mostly he spoke about the mentality of a defender. Many men joined companies to feel powerful, he said, but the key of fighting well was to make the self small enough to stay out of the way. The more power was sought, the further it flew beyond reach, and the greatest warriors were the ones that could place themselves entirely aside to let the world in. When you fought for your own glory, he told them, you fight for nothing at all. And death always waits for those who have nothing left.

They fell to sparring with eager arms, and he watched them in amusement. The recruits had always been his favorite part of commanding. Their energy and daring and beauty made him feel young again, though many here were well past his age. Cullen took a place opposite Alice for a time, but she was useless with the blade and laughed too much even under his sharpest glare. Deanna was more promising, and she had enough grace that he reconsidered Cassandra's advice to her. Not a future as a mercenary, which would be a waste, but as a soldier for the Inquisition, once she came of age. When he asked, she looked hesitantly at Peter, who was listening closely.

His nephew touched her cheek and breathed acceptance. Anything with you.

* * *

After all, what was love?

The stillness of the pond at night, a place that was his alone. Love was a quiet heart, a Herald with a glowing hand who said only what was needed and let the world fill in the rest. It offered comfort and peace to men who'd been tired for far too long. Rest was the reward for their devotion. But Cassandra pushed him, demanded his betterment in words and deeds, and he expected no less from her. If love was tranquility, they would smash it to bits.

And yet when he ran away from the noise of the world, it was always with her. Silence was the language they spoke with each other.

Alice dragged him to a gathering of her friends, promising no one would accost him. She was true to her word, and he fell into their gentle laughter and teasing with a light heart. He was an old man, older than the stars in the sky, but they only saw the age of his face and didn't exclude him from their happiness.

Eventually the exuberance of the party tired him, and he wandered into the night air to collect himself. He stumbled across two figures in the darkness, silent as they clung to each other with breathless passion. When he mumbled apologies, their heads turned. Alice's familiar face and another blue-eyed woman's stared back at him. His sister said nothing, only studied him with eyes more afraid than they'd ever been. He hadn't known she could carry so much fear inside of her.

He left them to their devices. But when they walked home later, he put his arm around his sister's shoulders and asked, in a soft voice, for every detail of the woman who completed her.

* * *

But truly, what was love?

Andraste and the Maker, bound in unending devotion. They blessed each other with holy words and set themselves apart from the world. They were the example and the fear, because they were eternal but their beginning was a death.

The family went to the Chantry services, and the Reverend Mother preached on their love. Cullen glanced sidelong at Mia. She shook her head minutely, but there was a smile on the Mother's lips that told him he was being taught another lesson. "Disappointment had turned Him aside from His place. He retreated from the world and all Thedas felt his absence," she said, and her eyes flickered once to Cullen.

He grimaced. Definitely a lesson. But he listened anyway.

"But we all know of Andraste's service to the Maker. We strive daily to to embody it and summon the same faithful devotion to his cause. When we fall short, Andraste serves us as well, interceding to draw her husband's eyes back to the world," she said. "Andraste's love for Him is easy to understand, though difficult to master. We look to serve Him, and each other, in her holy footsteps.

"Yet we rarely speak of the true love of the Maker. Perhaps it makes us uncomfortable to know that His love only flows through one source, filtered to the rest of us. Perhaps it makes us feel our own lack of worthiness. Or perhaps it makes us think of Him in a base way, as a carnal being with needs that only Andraste can satisfy."

The congregation laughed hesitantly, and the Mother smiled. "You can laugh. The Chant is solemn, but laughter is should always be allowed a voice," she said. She sobered. "I don't know if the Maker felt earthly lust for Andraste. His mind is not for us to know, and certainly not for me. But it's clear from the Chant that He loved Andraste, not for her beauty, which lived on her face, but the faith that lived in her heart."

Cullen closed his eyes and let the words flow around him, through his soul, smoothing away the sharp edges of worry.

"What can we learn from the Maker's love? It is eternal. It is given only to the worthy. And it fears and wavers in its birth, just as ours does," she said. The congregation muttered, and she waited for them to subside. "What must He have felt when His love was burning from betrayal? The betrayal of man, a creature which had defied Him once before, blackened His city and brought sin into heaven. And now Andraste was dying, the second sin, erasing His new touchstone to Thedas. She was the only worthy thing inside of it, to His eyes. He must have despaired at us and our weakness, to destroy what is good with so little thought.

"And yet He found hope for us still. He gathered His Andraste away, the only truth, and she resides alongside Him as eternal proof that men can be worth saving."

Her voice softened, and he leaned forward to hear it. "Does a true God need hope? I don't know. But we certainly do. We need the hope of the Other, the one who keeps us tied to the world around us. If we're lucky, we'll find many such cords. Romantic love is not the only love that suits," she said. "Every one of us works to become an other for the Maker, one less reason to for Him to turn away, one more reason to rejoin the world to heal it. But He has only one Andraste. Only one who is the evidence of His chosen purpose. For the truth of Andraste that is never spoken is that she does not only worship her husband but is worshiped in return."

The Mother looked at him steadily. "The lesson of the Maker's love is one for us all. When we find the anchor that binds us to our life's path, we must have courage enough to save it. Love is the faith inside of the flames."

* * *

Cullen found the Reverend Mother after the service and asked for her blessing. She gave it willingly, but when she was done she made no move to leave. He shifted uncomfortably before asking, "Did Cassandra speak to you often while she was here?"

"Not often, but enough," she said. "She had a strong faith, and she was burdened by her deception of you, Commander."

He didn't correct her address, just frowned at her lack of discretion.

The Mother smiled softly. "I saw her again when she left with your men. I know you learned what she did not wish you to know. And I know the choice you made after," she said. Her voice didn't recriminate, but it was sad.

"I wasn't aware I was making one," he said helplessly. "I thought it was the truth."

"And now?"

Now he wanted nothing more than the happiness that had slipped away so easily. He hadn't been happy in Skyhold, though his job was satisfying. He wasn't happy here, though his family held so much joy. It was only in the spaces between the two, alone with her, that he'd found it.

Cassandra would be in the Skyhold chapel now, kneeling by the garden that held the living versions of the flowers she'd left behind. He could see her so clearly. She always whispered the Chants, trying not to be heard by those around her. She kept her faith private, but he knew how fervent it was. He knew her favorite verses and the way she always confused grace and charity in Transfigurations. She scowled at him every time he corrected her.

When she swung her sword high left, her hips shifted in betrayal just a fraction too soon. On watch, she walked three different perimeter patterns in turn. If she heard something scandalous, she coughed lightly before closing her eyes. She wore down her quills quickly by pressing too hard, no matter how many times she muttered to herself to be gentle. When she took a cup to drink, she turned it in her hands exactly twice before the first sip.

All of those little things he knew about her that added up to a fearsome hole in his world. He'd taken her presence for granted.

With a small effort he could imagine her rising from her supplication and leaving the chapel behind. But instead of taking to the walls, as she usually did, she would find him in his rooms, where he prayed alone. And he would be steadied. And they would be mended. And she would be there every morning after.

Could what he needed have been so near, all that time? If so, he would have known. He would have felt the rushing of his heart. Wouldn't he?

Was she his Andraste? Vulnerability and surprise? Influence and understanding? Peace for them both? Could she be his anchor, hard and certain? The last, at least, he knew. She was the fixed star he'd always steered by.

"You said love is faith. I believe in her more than anyone I know," he said. "But is that enough?"

She cocked her head to the side and asked a question of her own. "If she were dying, never to return, and you held the power, would you pull her back to the world? To you?"

His stomach twisted. A world without Cassandra was no world at all. "Yes," he said.

"Then do so, child."

He turned to leave, then stopped under the thrall of one last fear. "Do you think she really loves me? As a man, not just the idea of one?"

A rich chuckle drifted across the air. "If she were the Maker, you would also find life after Andraste's flames."

* * *

The sun was behind clouds when he walked out of the chapel, but it might as well have been streaming full and clear out of his heart. His future was hidden, rocks under the water, but he knew where he would set his feet. And he would be brave.

He looked around and spotted a woman with a broom and sharp eyes. When he strode to her side, she gave him a stare of honest puzzlement. "Tell the Nightingale the Commander will return in two days," he said. She nodded almost imperceptibly and went back to sweeping.

That afternoon he gathered his things, donned his armor and swung Torch into the lane. The children were tearful, Mia was hopeful, and Alice only laughed at the picture he struck. He was a handsome knight on a charger, gleaming like the oldest story. His family didn't fall away from his heart, as others had done before, but they were dimming in the light of his new purpose. He had to know if she was love.

He promised them to return, and he would, someday. But when he urged Torch into a gallop that the horse happily accepted, he prayed that it wouldn't be alone.


	17. The Guard

"Should I alert the Inquisitor of your arrival, ser?"

The guard stood at perfect attention as Cullen swung off of his horse. Two days to Skyhold, as promised, and the place was like a dream that he'd only half-remembered. He looked up to the rookery balcony, where a purple-clad figure was just disappearing. "She'll know soon enough," he said.

A stable boy took his exhausted mount away after a runner removed his saddlebags. The man looked at him, questioning, and Cullen said, "To my office, please." He tried to sound more confident in that than he was. No one here seemed to think his absence odd, or his title removed, but he wasn't quite sure of his ground.

The runner made to comply, and Cullen nearly slapped his forehead. "Wait," he said. "Not this one." He took the smallest satchel away and slung it over his shoulder. It was very light for carrying so much. A book. Flowers. All of his hopes and uncertainties, balancing and rebalancing as the time to his destination shortened. What if he'd been wrong? What if Ellana overtook him again and he'd come back only to hurt Cassandra more deeply than ever?

An even more terrifying thought followed on its heels. What if Ellana didn't overtake him, and Mia was right, and the Seeker never forgave him for his unthinking words?

He stood in the lower yard for too long, mind churning in terror. He was well out over the water now, far from solid ground on both sides, and the surety was leaving him. Where was the next stone?

Before he could bolt, or vomit, a voice yelled, "Thank the Creators you're back!"

Ellana stood on the stairs to his office, relief and joy evident on her face. Josephine would have given her a stern lecture about the Herald of Andraste calling on Dalish gods so publicly, but Cullen was in no mood for theology. He studied her carefully, weighing his feelings. She was the same as he remembered. Small and lithe, eyes that were serious even in happiness, body crackling with the magic she always carried. The wide smile on her face was incongruous, something he'd rarely seen, but that was the only difference in her. She was still beautiful, still powerful, and still Ellana.

And he still responded to it as he always had. Respect. Devotion. The need to serve and protect and keep her safe from the world. The feelings were no less than they'd ever been.

Cullen despaired. He'd judged wrongly. He didn't understand his own mind, didn't understand love, and he'd come to a place of pain once again. He took a step forward to ask Ellana to speak to him privately. He could resign in person and take his things with him, cutting ties permanently. The Inquisitor would let him go, if he explained everything. She was kind. And he wouldn't have to see Cassandra's face.

Then the Seeker appeared above Ellana, and he banished any thoughts of leaving. He drank her in, the tall marble of her presence, amazed at how real she was. She was wholly foreground. Had it only been a week since he'd seen her? It felt like a lifetime. Yet they'd been parted much longer, before. Sometimes they'd spent that long in absentminded silence even as they lived side by side in Skyhold. But this separation was nothing like that. This was a distance he'd thought was permanent, closing in a second. This was coming home.

When her eyes met his, they were familiar and beautiful even in their shock. Their dark warmth healed the parts of him that he hadn't known were broken. His stomach didn't flutter at her presence. It surged and roiled inside him, anxious to be closer, to fold her into his arms again. His heart didn't race under her eye. It quieted into a new peace, a silence that spoke louder than any voices ever could.

The only thing he felt capable of was sweeping her into his office and spending a day, a lifetime, telling her all of the things she was. She was a blaze against the darkness. She was stillness in the crowd. She was the gentle places of his soul, the only part of him that was true. He wouldn't protect her. She protected herself, and him, with a ferocity that needed no aid. But he would give himself to her, wherever she went, and they would never be apart again. If she would have him.

How could he not have known what this was? It seemed so obvious, a permanency here under the cold sky. But the feelings had crept in gradually, like sinking into a heated pool. He'd gotten used to her warmth, the comfort that wrapped itself around him so gently that he hadn't known he was surrounded. Filled. Made whole.

Cullen's eyes flicked briefly to Ellana. There were still emotions there, to be sure, but they were as pale as her eyes in comparison. No wonder he'd never had the courage to move on them. Or the foolishness. And if Solas held this burning, consuming feeling for her, if Ellana was like this for him, no wonder she'd forgiven him anything and everything the mage had asked. He could only pray Cassandra would do the same.

The thought sliced painfully across his mind. When she looked at him, did she feel this way? Completed and steadied, like he was the only real thing she'd ever known? Could he ever be so much to her? She couldn't have lived with it for so long without acting on it. He wasn't sure he could last for five minutes, let alone five years. Maybe her love was pale and shadowed, like the unreality he'd thought was so real. If he went to her, would he always want more than she had to give?

He wanted so much. He wanted everything.

He pushed away the fear. He focused on the way they'd come together that last night, how he'd told her the truth of what he felt without understanding it in the least. Confessions of desire, whispered as he crested. Cassandra, always Cassandra, trembling and wanting and loving him. It had been that way from the beginning, from the first moment she'd found him angry and broken, holding the ruined city of Kirkwall together with shaking hands. She'd loved him enough to pull him to her then, with no guarantee of reward. Now it was his turn. He hadn't been wrong, he knew what he wanted, and he would be brave.

"Yes, I'm back," he said, smiling broadly. Cassandra still hadn't moved, and he tried to send her a thought. _For you. I came back for you._ He wondered if he could find the courage to kiss her, here, in front of everyone. He thought he could.

Ellana skipped down the stairs, but he hardly noticed. Solas joined them as well, but Cullen was still waiting for Cassandra to do something. Anything. When Ellana shook his arm, saying his name, he looked down at her in irritation, and that was when the Seeker moved. His eyes snapped back to the wall in time to see her retreat into his office, likely making for the training yard.

His heart sank a little. She was still angry with him. But he refused to be discouraged. He hadn't told her that he was coming. Of course she'd be in shock. Of course she would turn away. But once he talked to her, it would be okay. Eventually. He didn't care how long he had to work to earn her forgiveness. Effort had never deterred him from a task.

It dawned on him that Ellana was talking, and he hadn't heard a word of it. "I'm sorry?" he said, forcing himself to focus. He wanted nothing more than to run after Cassandra, but Ellana was his leader.

"I said, it's been a nightmare since you left. When Leliana said you were staying in Ferelden for a few more days to see your family, I didn't know if we'd survive it," she said. "I'm glad you saw them, but you can never be gone so long again."

He blinked at her in confusion. "You ordered me to go," he said.

Embarrassment crossed her face, and he was even more lost. He glanced at Solas, who wore a resigned, exasperated look of his own, but he didn't seem inclined to speak. Neither of them did, and eventually Cullen folded his arms. "What did you mean by a nightmare? The reports seemed as usual."

She looked around them quickly. "We should talk at the War Table," she said. "Come on."

Cullen looked longingly to the upper yard he could see in his mind's eye. Where Cassandra certainly was. He would do his duty, if he had to. He always did. But oh, would it cost him.

Solas, surprisingly, saved him. " _Vhenan_ , the Commander has just arrived, and you have nothing prepared. Fifteen minutes would serve you both," he said. Ellana considered, and the elf smoothed a delicate hand over her hair. His voice lowered. "Perhaps twenty, if you would spare a few for a neglected lover."

He silently thanked the mage when Ellana nodded. "Thirty minutes, Commander," she said. She dragged Solas away.

* * *

Cullen gave himself ten minutes in his office to gather himself. It was utter chaos, papers and orders and maps strewn everywhere, but he ignored it for now. There would be time enough to re-arrange it to his own liking. His bedroom was untouched, save for a trio of cats that blinked at him from the covers. "We are going to have to come to some kind of arrangement," he said to them. "If this works, there won't be enough room for you on there."

They didn't move, and he put that aside for another time as well. He changed and wiped off the grime of the road as best he could. He found a bar of soap in one of his packs and tried to at least mask the smells that he couldn't erase without a full bath. Cassandra had seen him much worse, but this felt different, too. He'd never worried about impressing her with his looks, and he wouldn't start now, but he did want to offer her his best. Not that even that would be what she deserved, but please, Maker, let her be willing to accept it.

When he looked into his mirror, he seemed as usual. Redder, from the sun, and thinner, from the worrying, but as he met his eyes they were clear for the first time since before Kirkwall. And young, like a boy's in their excitement. He grinned.

He was a little surprised at how calm he felt as he walked to the yard. If he'd thought about it at all, if he'd had time to consider the magnitude of what he was doing, he would have expected nerves and sweaty palms. The fear of failure should have been an overwhelming voice in his ear. Instead, this was the perfect moment inside of a fight, when he saw the opening and took it, secure and steady.

A passing soldier did a double-take at his wide smile, and Cullen laughed a little as he returned a salute. It seemed Cassandra had been right about his dour attitude before they'd left.

When she wasn't in the yard he frowned, then looked toward the armory. Perhaps she'd needed something from her quarters. He pushed the door open to surprising quiet. The workers were gone, which never happened during the day. They staggered their breaks to allow continuous forging of the blades the Inquisition. Cullen puzzled over it, but only for a moment, because Cassandra was indeed there.

But she was clearly not waiting for him, as he'd half-hoped. She gasped when he entered, then spun to a nearby table, leaving her back to him. He walked toward her and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a throat clearing next to him. "Hey, Commander. Welcome back," said a voice that sounded anything but welcoming.

He twisted towards the implied threat, but he had no weapon. His eyes searched for blades along the walls, but even as they did he was already relaxing. The Inquisition wasn't a place he needed to fear assassination. Besides, he recognized the voice. "Iron Bull," he said. He'd have thought it would be impossible to miss a qunari in a room, but he'd managed to do it. Bull leaned casually against a column, fingers playing across a knife on his belt.

Cullen glanced from the man to Cassandra. "Was I interrupting something?"

"Depends on your definition of something," said another voice, and again Cullen jumped. Varric sat on a table behind him, Bianca resting on his lap. Again, it wasn't exactly a threat, but Cullen's hackles rose anyway. The dwarf's face was neutral, but the look in his eyes was cold. "Just some friends, talking about weapons. Did you know how many uses there are for a simple blade? Not to mention a crossbow bolt. It would probably surprise you."

"I'm not sure I've considered it," he said slowly, then stopped at another noise above him. He looked up and managed to limit his reaction to swallowing heavily.

Sera sat on the overlook, her legs dangling between the posts of the banister. There was nothing implied about the draw of her bow. "Yeah, there are already a lot. But we thought we might find a few more, right?" she said casually. "If we put our heads together."

Cullen spread his open palms to the side, moving carefully. Whatever this was, they were deadly serious. "I just wanted to speak with Cassandra," he said. She still hadn't said anything, but the set of her shoulders was tight and pained.

"So talk," said Varric. "If you can find anything you haven't already said. Or done," he added under his breath.

He inhaled sharply. So that was it. "I know. It wasn't right. I shouldn't have…" He trailed off, blushing. Even if they already knew that they'd been intimate, how could he talk about it so openly? He soldiered on. "I never even apologized for anything. I didn't say goodbye. I was ten times a fool. I'm sorry. More sorry than I can say, " he said to her back.

No answer. No movement. "But I didn't understand," he continued. "I do now. Please, I just need to talk to you." They had to get away from accusing eyes and this hostile place. This wasn't the setting he'd wanted. He'd wanted to tell her somewhere romantic, or as romantic as any place got in Skyhold. Barring that, he'd thought they would at least be alone. That he would see her face. Or hear her voice saying his name again. It was hard to speak to this angry, silent figure.

"Why'd you come back?" asked Bull, and Cullen very nearly hit him. He wouldn't let the man treat this like a Ben-Hassrath interrogation. His feelings weren't for them to dissect.

He fought for control, and his voice was reasonably calm when he answered, "I thought I might be needed." Wanted.

"Her Royal Handness's needs are already very filled. Regularly and completely. Trust me, the tents aren't soundproof," said Sera. Her smile glittered. "It's all very ancient elfy."

Cullen's blush came back full force. Had they all known, all this time? "No, not that. My job. They wanted me to come back," he said.

"Cassandra already asked you quite a few times, Curly," said Varric. "You seemed pretty certain you were done." The dwarf gazed at him levelly. "One note from the Inquisitor all it took?"

There was a message in his voice, and Cullen's jealousy roared. It was irrational, but none of this was right, and his emotions were spinning wildly out of control. "She's kept you very well informed on me," he said. "I wasn't aware you corresponded so closely. Or have you been spending that much time together since she returned? Perhaps discovering her more inspiring qualities for your books?"

There was a pained noise from the corner, and Cassandra's knuckles whitened where she gripped the table beneath her. Shame flooded through him. Varric smiled tightly. "You might want to remember who has the crossbow, kid."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," he said. Maker, this was going from bad to worse. "It's not my place." Except he wanted it to be his place, so badly that he was shaking with it. He would kill anyone who dared treat her body casually. Or her heart. Including himself.

He took a step forward, desperate. "Cassandra, please…"

She flinched at her name. He flinched, too, when an arrow thunked into the floorboards an inch from his foot. It had whistled so close to him he'd felt the air of its passage. His heart stopped, and he looked up at Sera.

"Oops," she said. "I lost my arrow."

Before he could find his voice again, the door swung open behind him. He clenched his fists against the intrusion, grinding his bones together when a hesitant messenger spoke. "Commander, you're wanted at the War Table."

He didn't care about the damned War Table. They could wait forever if that's what it took to deal with this.

His head pounded. Bull was glowering, his huge arms crossed, Varric had shifted Bianca into an even less friendly position, and Sera rapped her bow against the banister in a broken, distracting rhythm. Their anger was palpable and pressing, and Cassandra wouldn't look at him. The messenger was waiting, the room was full of rage, and Cullen was making her unhappy. Again.

If only she would look at him.

He opened his mouth to speak when the messenger said, "The Inquisitor really was very insistent, ser."

Cassandra spoke finally, her voice coming from a long way away. "Do your duty, Commander."

Cullen, he wanted to say. Please, always Cullen with you. But Cassandra would never accept someone who put his feelings above the work. The personal and the professional should never be confused with each other. Hadn't she fought him to a standstill on it, over and over again? He searched for a new opening. "Of course, Lady Seeker. But afterward, I want a status update of all Templar forces under our command. In my office. Understood?"

"Yes ser," she said. Her voice was bland and colorless, but he could have sworn there was an undercurrent of something in it. He hoped he wasn't imagining it.

"I'll be there," said Bull. "I assume you'll want an update on our mercenary companies as well."

He glared at the qunari, but there was no way out of it. And at least it would only be one intruder. "Fine," he said. He spun on his heel, away from the arrow in the floor and this scene that had not been at all what he'd hoped. "I expect it will be soon. My runner will find you both."

* * *

Leliana met him outside of the room and dismissed the grateful, quaking messenger. Cullen was sure he looked like hell. It was only confirmed by the spymaster's face. "Did you succeed?" she asked, and he didn't bother to dissemble.

"No," he said. "The others were there. I couldn't get her alone." Not even to Leliana, who probably already knew, would he relate how completely he'd botched the entire conversation. "Sera tried to shoot me."

She laughed lightly, and he waved it off. "I'm surprised you haven't tried yourself. I expected more from you."

"There's no point in punishing a man who punishes himself so thoroughly," she said. "It's a waste of effort. One need only sit back and watch."

His lips twitched ruefully. "I'm always glad to help."

"But make no mistake, Cullen. I am still watching," she said, voice suddenly dripping in ice.

He shivered despite himself and said nothing. He tried to look less afraid than he was.

"So will that be your last attempt?" she asked more mildly. He stared at her in bafflement, and her eyebrows raised underneath her ever-present hood. "I recall you've not always been bold in approaching your targets."

He colored and tried to follow her metaphor. "They were different. Distant outposts. This is the stronghold. The most important thing…" He trailed off, awash in his new truths. "No, it won't be my last attempt."

The bard smiled. "The Reverend Mother's sermon must have been even more inspiring than I'd hoped," she said before walking into the War Room. He gaped at her back, then shook his head in resignation as he followed her. It was too late to complain about receiving the push he'd so obviously needed.

* * *

Cullen rubbed his temples and looked at Ellana across the table. "You sent Captain Vale and her squad to the Tevinter border?" he asked.

The meeting was already well past the time he'd expected it to last. On the road, the status updates from them had been trifles, mostly personal and internal conflicts. He was coming to realize they'd been heavily edited, if not outright lies. This was only the latest in a series of decisions that had been made seemingly at random, to disastrous effect. Venatori incursions, bandit raids, Orlesian military exercises, and even the Crows had flared up in the last few weeks as well.

The Inquisitor winced and nodded. "Yes. They'd been fighting in the same place for so long. I thought the men might want to see somewhere new," she said.

He didn't have the heart to tell her that, when you fought for a living, the scenery was mostly a blur. Or an inconvenience. "But Captain Vale -," he began. He didn't finish. Captain Vale was terrified of mages, had been since Adamant. She was brilliant outside of it, and could handle them in small numbers if they were working with other groups, but the magic of a united Tevinter was well beyond her capabilities.

He tried to think if he'd written that down anywhere. Likely not. It wasn't the kind of thing a leader talked about. He just worked around it quietly to keep the men where they were most useful. "Were there any casualties?"

"No," said Josephine. "Leliana had people in the area who spotted the danger. We gained no ground, but there were no losses."

He shot a look at the Nightingale, who gazed back serenely. She would have known about the captain. She knew about everything. For some reason, this had been by design. "Very fortunate," he said."Nevertheless, if I may suggest some reassignments."

"Please," said Ellana gratefully. "It's why we needed you back so badly."

If that was so, why hadn't they asked him to return earlier? Or looked for his advice, at the least? There were no clues on any of the women's faces, and he pushed the questions aside. When he scanned the list of assignments and set to work, the familiarity of it was almost enough to forget the constant aching of his heart.


	18. The Divine

"You do realize, my dears, that my time is not infinite?"

Vivienne, or Divine Victoria, as he still had to remind himself to call her, leaned back in her chair with a small smile. "Unlike the Imperium, we have not yet stooped to the arrogance of time magic in my Circles."

"What some may call arrogance others may call simple superiority," said Dorian. "Grant my countrymen their lack of morals, but their skill is unparalleled."

"On the morality, we find no cause for disagreement," she said.

"Enough," snapped Cullen. What felt like his fifteenth headache of the day crept up behind his eyes. Why had he ever wanted to come back to this squabbling brood? If they weren't threatening him with violence, they were bickering amongst each other in endless, wearying back and forths. He supposed it would comfort some to know that the highest ranking members of the Inquisition were intelligent enough to insult each other so pithily, but it was only making him exhausted.

His eyes flicked to the quiet corner of the room. Cassandra hadn't said a word since she'd arrived, but he thought he saw a hint of sympathy in her eyes. It straightened his back just enough to keep him civil, though privately he thought he'd rather be bickering alone with her than sitting in a well-behaved room of a hundred of them.

Which there practically were, in numbers. "Dorian, why are you even here?"

"A fine welcome, Commander, after I troubled myself to bring you a most delightful vintage," said the mage with a playful pout. He drank liberally from his goblet. "I know things of great tactical import, I'll have you know."

"Name one," said Cullen.

"Tevinter is to the north of here."

Varric made a show of writing this down, to the general amusement of everyone. Somehow a briefing on the state of the arms of the Inquisition's forces had turned into a reunion in his office before a single report was given. Josephine had requisitioned piles of furs from their storehouses to spread on the floor, and everyone but Solas was lounging and drinking as if they'd never leave. They probably wouldn't.

Dorian flopped back against his desk. "Commander, what's happened to the cheerful smile? The barracks could talk of nothing else upon your return, yet you're sporting only your usual scowl on that obscenely handsome face," he said. "And before you comment," he added, turning to Cassandra, "I was in the barracks because I am wonderful for their morale."

"I have no doubt," she said dryly. Cullen could have happily strangled the man for coaxing a sentence out of her.

The room was waiting for his answer, most with knowing smirks. As if he would talk about any of that now. He settled for a long sigh. "Someone tried to shoot me," he said. "It dampened my enthusiasm for you all."

"I said sorry, yeah?" said Sera. She was once again sitting high off the floor, legs swinging through the rungs of his ladder. "Lady Seeker Killjoy said I had to say it, so I did. Not like I hit you or anything. And I couldn't even get my arrow back out of the floor, so it really was a waste."

"I thought you had plenty of others… stowed away," said Dorian. "In certain parts of your anatomy."

She blew a raspberry at him. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Thus began a spirited debate on the mechanics of storing arrows in places not meant for storage. Cullen moved to sit behind his desk and started sorting through the piles of paper. If they were going to be here, he could at least get some work done.

Of course, the work also kept his eyes from lingering on the woman he was far too aware of. She'd claimed one of the seats on the couch almost immediately, as far from his desk as possible. Iron Bull had settled himself next to her while Varric squeezed in alongside the qunari. Vivienne had taken the chair as a matter of course, leaving him no way to get anywhere near her unless he sat on the table. Which was piled with papers.

He still didn't fully understand why she was so wary of him, but it was growing painfully obvious they'd have no opportunity to speak tonight.

The worst was that the arrangement had her practically sitting in Bull's lap. While Cullen had no doubt that she'd spoken the truth when she said she held no interest in the warrior, Bull knew how to push someone's buttons better than anyone in the Inquisition. And he'd clearly set his sights on the Commander.

The qunari had already persuaded her into a glass of wine, and she sipped it slowly while the rest of them talked around her. The cup turned twice in her hand before she drank, which was familiar enough to squeeze his heart. But to make things unbearable, every time she took a drink, she ended the motion by running her tongue over her upper lip. Cullen was already half-crazed with wanting, and the effort of hiding it was wearing his already-thin patience. He needed to be the one tasting the remnants of liquid on her lips, coaxing that mouth open a little wider to drink in her moans. No more wine, then. Just him.

She swallowed another mouthful, and he hissed as the column of her throat rippled under the motion. Any other woman, he would have thought she was doing it on purpose. The Goldward woman certainly would have been. But Cassandra wasn't that kind of person, and he had to conclude that she was just maddeningly, distractingly attractive without even trying.

Of course, he'd never been in a mindset to notice it so clearly either. Bull was well aware of his gaze, and the man touched her often, rearranging the pillows around them and twisting to speak to Varric in a way that pressed his powerful leg flush against hers. When she moved, he moved with her so easily that they could have been one person. And he was constantly, obviously attentive to her in a way that had Leliana, at least, smiling into her own cup.

There was nothing untoward about it, but everything with Bull was innuendo. Even knowing it was a demonstration, a way to punish Cullen for the hurt he'd caused, his hand itched to draw the sword at his side and end it in blood. The dangerous, edgy, angry feeling was flowing through him again, but this time Cassandra wasn't going to be with him to soothe it.

Paperwork. That was safe. He hoped.

He was wrong. Ellana jumped up as he started in on it. "No! We worked enough today. Everything is done, organized, and the orders are sent. Now's the time for fun."

He smiled at her crookedly. "Is that fun going to end up with me underdressed for a formal dinner again?"

"She told you it was me?" asked Ellana with her hands on her hips. She turned to Cassandra. "You told him?"

"It was important at the time," muttered Cassandra into her goblet. "There was a dinner party. I needed a humorous tale. And since Varric has assured me I cannot tell a joke, the only path left was a truth."

Varric nodded vigorous agreement, but Ellana just looked at them both. "You went to a dinner party?"

"That was not in your reports, Seeker," said Josephine tipsily, waggling a reproachful finger. "We said to report everything."

"It was hardly of concern to the Inquisition," said Cullen. "It was just my sister and her guests."

"You met his family?" The Inquisitor laughed delightedly. He stared at her in complete bewilderment. "I thought Cullen went alone!" she said. "First, how was the house? Was it done correctly?"

Ellana turned back to him and said offhandedly, "Cassandra told me that your home village could likely use aid after the war, and Creators know I could never get you to take a tenth of what you're worth. We wanted to give something to you that you couldn't refuse. She was very exact as to your family's needs."

Of course it had been Cassandra. Another kindness he could never repay.

The Inquisitor didn't notice his chagrin as she overrode Cassandra's comments that the house was quite nice. "Yes, but you met his sisters, right? What were they like? Any embarrassing stories to tell us?"

Cassandra flushed, and he was sure his own face matched hers. Surely there was anything else they could talk about. He cleared his throat in warning, and Ellana gave him a sly look. "Cassandra can either answer my questions, or the next prank will involved you being undressed instead of simply underdressed, Commander," she said. "We haven't forgotten that game of Wicked Grace around here."

Dorian's voice came from the floor. "And I'm sure I never shall. I vote for the prank. All in favor?"

Leliana, Josephine, Bull, and Vivienne all raised their hands, the last with a knowing look. Damn it, she knew he'd never been comfortable with the Divine ogling at him. Which was the only reason she did it. Thank everything holy that Cassandra hadn't been selected for the honor. Though he noticed she wasn't raising her hand, much to his irritation.

When Sera lifted a finger alongside them, he glared at her instead. "You don't even enjoy men," he said.

"Nope," she said cheerfully. "But I do want to know how far down that blush goes. Just like with him," she added, jerking her foot at Blackwall. "Had to know where all the hair went. It's everywhere, in case you wondered."

Thank the Maker he wasn't the only one sputtering now. "And when would have you learned that, lass?" said Blackwall warily.

"Everyone's gotta take a bath, don't they? Well, not everyone," she said at Vivienne's snort. "But all you Orlesians."

"I'm from the Marches," he said.

"Whatever. All places are the same once you get down to the bits."

"They're completely different," said Varric. Soon enough another argument was in full swing, and Cullen sighed in relief.

Ellana sat on the edge of his desk with her arms crossed. "I seem to have lost some respect with my recent foray into command," she said ruefully. "Now even Cassandra won't obey me."

He laughed lightly. "Join the club," he said. "She has a natural resistance to military authority, I think. Like recognizes like."

"Did you really take her to meet your family?" she asked. Her eyes were serious again, more what he was used to.

"Took might be overstating it. She insisted on coming, really," he said, smiling. "My authority was also very compromised."

His smile faded as he realized how close she'd been to leaving him at the Seeker camp. He'd been a breath away from never knowing what he was risking. When he looked back to the corner, needing reassurance that she was there, Cassandra was staring at him. She looked away as soon as his eyes rested on her, and he felt the rejection in his bones. He stared down at his desk. The emotions of the day were catching up with him, and he felt unbelievably weary, knowing he would spend his night alone.

Ellana placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered, "It will be okay, Cullen."

He couldn't find the energy to believe her.

There was movement from the couch, and he looked up again. Cassandra was standing, her face unreadable. "The Commander should have his office back," she said. "We are clearly in no state to brief, and I'm sure he's had a tiring day."

Yes. Everyone but you leave, he wanted to say, but he didn't. Instead, he turned the solution neatly on its head and stood to walk her back to her own quarters. He had to do something to spend time with her. Anything.

Bull anticipated him. "I'll walk you back, Seeker," he said. "Never know what might be lurking in the shadows."

She didn't acknowledge him, only left the room with a curt farewell. Before he followed, the qunari moved to Cullen and laid a hand on his shoulder. "If you want to convince her you're not still interested in the boss's private quarters, you're going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that," he said quietly enough that only Cullen heard. His voice was kind, but he turned away before Cullen could say anything in return.

He found his voice as the man reached the door. "Briefing tomorrow. Ten o'clock. Tell her."

The man waved to show he'd heard, and Cullen turned back to a room of curious eyes. "She's right. It's been a long day. Thank you for the welcome, but if we could postpone the festivities until a later date that would be appreciated," he said.

"But what's your plan?" asked Josephine. He stared at her in confusion. The Antivan was well into her wine, but she seemed lucid enough.

"My plan is to sleep. And hope to wake up in a world with a lot more privacy," he added.

They all blinked at him, some ashamed, but most just irritated. "So you have no plan," said Sera. "Bloody hell. Leave it to us, as usual."

She swung down off the ladder and was already bending Dorian's ear before they hit the door. Varric stared coolly at him before joining them, and the rest filed out more or less upright.

"Leliana," said Cullen, "wait a minute."

She raised her eyebrow and came back to the desk, waiting quietly. "Why did Ellana not know about the trip to my sister's? You knew, or you couldn't have written us there. And the letters were addressed in Ellana's hand," he said.

"At the time, it was less a trip than desertion," she said pointedly, and he winced. "I assumed you would not wish the Inquisitor to be aware of it. And as Cassandra wrote only to me and no one else once you reached the steading, I chose to keep the information she shared private. As for my letters, I addressed Cassandra's. Ellana only addressed yours. I thought it might get your attention."

She smiled, a smile that was uncomfortably like that of Alice's when she was at her most bothersome. "By the time I realized the Seeker suddenly held more sway over you, I wouldn't have been able to convince her into using it. More's the pity."

"I see," he said. "Am I really so easily manipulated?"

"Don't be offended. Everyone is, Commander," she said. "And in fact, you did manage to surprise me. I thought you'd never figure out that she's exactly what you need."

He was trying to come up with a clever rejoinder when soft footsteps came down the ladder. Cole's dropped lightly to the ground and turned to him with a smile. "Your cats will have the smells somewhere else."

"Oh," said Cullen. "Good. You talk to cats?"

"No, my mouth does not make the right sounds. It's for humans only. But I used my diplomacy," he said. "Like Josephine when the masks pretend not to understand her accent."

Leliana laughed. Cullen elbowed her. "That's very clever of you," he said.

"You need a new blanket," said Cole.

* * *

They both left, and he was almost ready to climb the ladder to fall into blessed sleep when there was a knock at the door. He knew better, but he couldn't stop the hope of dark eyes and a knowing half-smile waiting on the other side.

Instead it was Solas, expectant and imperious. "Nothing personal," said Cullen, "but you're not the one I want to sleep here tonight." He was too irritated to soften his tone, and everyone else already knew his business anyway, it seemed.

The elf smiled. "I'm aware. Nevertheless, I wish to speak with you." When Cullen hesitated, he added, "It may make your situation more clear."

Well, that would be a relief. He nodded the mage into the room and settled onto the couch across from him. Cassandra sat here, his mind reminded him. She sat here and would have tasted of sweet wine when you slid yourself against her and made her breathless with your touch. He ignored the invasion, with difficultly.

Solas crossed his legs, steepled his fingers, and said without preamble, "I love Ellana very much, Commander."

Cullen blinked. "Understood," he said. He shifted in his seat. "If this is a warning for me, let me assure you there is no reason for you to be concerned." Anymore.

"Thank you, but that isn't my intent. I will admit that in the past it may have been. Your attentions to her, though she was unaware of them, were not exactly hidden," said Solas. His eyes flashed briefly before settling back into calm violet. "I may have provoked you beyond what was politic in response. I apologize for this, but even my control is not perfect."

Ah, there was the arrogance that rankled. "Yes, well, that became clear when you almost destroyed the world, and all of us with it," said Cullen.

"So we both understand what it is to use power poorly. Particularly when magic is involved. People we love die," said Solas. Cullen paled, and the elf tilted his head just so. "The Fade is not a good place for storing your secrets, Commander. Not from me."

"You watched my dreams?" asked Cullen, horrified.

Solas showed no shame. "You dreamed of my heart. There is nothing I wouldn't have watched to keep her safe from you," he said.

"I would never have hurt her," said Cullen. Never. Even now, he never would. She was the Inquisitor.

"Perhaps not intentionally. But ask Solona Amell what the regard of a Templar buys a mage," said Solas. His voice was chilly. "Fear and awe are both deadly to us. I would not let that be, for her."

The breath whooshed out of Cullen, and he stood. "If chastisement for the past was your purpose, Solas, consider your duty discharged. And consider yourself fortunate that I forgo the same pleasure with you. Don't worry. Ellana is safe from too much Templar regard," he said, spitting the last words.

To his surprise, the mage rubbed a hand across his eye while the other lifted in a sign for peace. "Forgive me. That was not my purpose, nor was it justified. Some of my more territorial instincts return around you, I'm afraid," he said. Cullen sat again, warily, and Solas breathed in before beginning again. "I tell you this only so you know why I've been less effective in aiding you than I otherwise could have been. Not only do I love her, but I wished you away from her as much as possible."

Cullen nodded silently.

"Ellana became convinced several months ago that you and the Seeker were in unspoken love," he said. "While I had no opinion as to Cassandra's feelings, I doubted the claim on your side, for obvious reasons. But Ellana has a heart for service, and for joy, and she turned her efforts to realizing her idea for you both. She was unsuccessful in all of her attempts. In fact, I doubt you noticed them at all."

"I had no idea," said Cullen, shocked into honesty. "I was too busy worrying about you."

The mage laughed. "Yes, so I saw," he said. "In the end, Ellana created a plan to send the two of you away, together and alone, for several weeks. There, she claimed, you would have no choice but to act upon your hidden feelings." Solas eyed him carefully. "In this, she perhaps showed more wisdom than I gave her credit for at the time."

He blushed but didn't disagree.

"She told only her other advisors and me, though I believe the plan was suspected more widely. We were charged to give no hint of trouble in Skyhold, nothing that would draw you back early, except in a case of true emergency. It seems this instruction was followed almost too well," he said. "I, and perhaps Leliana, saw that you were more personally affected by the orders than Ellana realized. When the bard raised her concerns about your melancholy, Ellana believed that you were simply nervous about what would come with Cassandra."

Solas smiled ruefully. "My heart cannot always see beyond her hopes," he continued. "I did not try to dissuade her, hoping that if you were heartbroken you would never return, and that would be the end of my own troubles."

Cullen exhaled. "I understand," he said. After all, he'd been close to dueling both Varric and Iron Bull, and he had much less reason to suspect them of love than Solas had with him.

"Cassandra, it seemed, also understood the gift that Ellana was trying to bestow, but she knew with the rest of us that your interests were occupied elsewhere. While I'd become convinced that she did care, I also saw she held little hope of securing your regard," said Solas. "However, I don't know what happened on your journey, but something changed in Cassandra's letters. From Ellana's confusing explanation, you fell off of a horse, and you told Cassandra you knew of her feelings for you."

He shook his head slowly. He thought back to that night, the one they'd spent in the same bed. They'd argued, they'd read, and he'd dreamed of her for the first time. But surely she hadn't known that, or the morning would have been much different. None of it explained Ellana's assertion. Except…

His mouth dropped open. He'd convinced her to sleep by questioning who her Rolan was. That it had been him was now obvious, but it certainly hadn't been at the time. He'd guessed that it was Iron Bull. He'd told her to talk to him about it, that Bull wanted her as well. His hands bunched into fists at the thought, no matter how little he believed it now.

But he'd never said the name, had he? Cassandra had thought he'd been fumbling his way toward his own confession to her.

And she'd kissed him the next morning. Like a mother, he'd convinced himself. But really like a lover, like a woman. Her fingers on his back, tracing the muscles under his bruises. His whirling mind, trying so hard not to want more. He could have flipped over beneath her, begged for her, and she would have responded more eagerly than he'd hoped. But she would have thought he was giving her so much more than he'd been offering. He would have hurt her even more than he already had later. At least by then she'd understood that he, stupidly, thought her only a friend.

He supposed he should be grateful that his stubborn self-control had done something good.

Solas nodded as Cullen lost himself in memory. "So something did happen. I wondered. Ellana was ecstatic, as military mistakes were being made, carefully mitigated by Leliana, and she was already anxious for your return. I swallowed that jealousy. If you had found love with Cassandra, as unlikely as I thought it, my issues with you would end. Mostly," he added with a small smile.

It vanished quickly. "But something changed again in the Seeker's later letters, clearly, though Leliana succeeded in hiding it from Ellana."

At Cullen's questioning look, he clarified, "The Nightingale asked for my advice, perhaps as another who'd gone through a tumultuous courtship. I advised her to wait. Perhaps it would change yet again, and if not there was little Ellana could do from here. This may have been poor counsel," he said with a sigh. "Cassandra returned alone, much to Ellana's consternation, though fortunately you've unexpectedly followed. If you hadn't, the Inquisition's new headquarters in Fereldan farmland might not have been so impressive as this fortress."

Cullen smiled wryly, and Solas continued, "But, while it's clear to me that you are only newly altered in your feelings and still in the first steps of this dance, Ellana believes you should be nearing the end. She is impatient for your relationship to manifest."

"I know how she feels," muttered Cullen.

Solas gave him a look that was almost sympathy. "Ellana was beside herself with anxiety about your distance from each other tonight. This is understandable, but she is already enacting a new plan, a counterproductive one. I've been unable to convince her away from it, so I thought it only right that you know this truth. I love Ellana very much, and will gladly keep her secrets," he said. "But there is a time when secrets do too much harm to keep." Solas leaned forward. "My heart believes that it is Cassandra who needs to be pushed, and that jealousy will be the way to accomplish it."

"Jealousy? Of whom?"

"Of her," said Solas. "She will flirt with you until the Seeker's envy catapults her into your arms."

Cullen swallowed heavily, then coughed as his chest tightened. "Is she mad?"

Solas growled, but he still nodded. "It is a terrible plan, inspired by far too many of Dorian's childlike tales. Even without knowledge of your past leanings, neither you nor the Seeker are the type to put yourself in the way of another's path to happiness," he said. "You're both selfless and cowardly."

"Thank you for that," said Cullen, but his mind was elsewhere. "Cassandra knows you and Ellana are in love. How could that work?"

"She believes that even the hint of another woman's interest in you will be enough to rouse Cassandra's possessiveness. But if necessary, she will pretend we had a falling out," said Solas. "It would not be without precedent, for us." Pain was evident on his face, and now it was Cullen's turn to feel sympathy. No matter what else he thought of the elf, his love for Ellana was undeniable.

"Bull thinks that Cassandra believes that I came back for the Inquisitor, because of my former feelings," said Cullen, silently thanking Iron Bull for saying it so plainly. "If so, and Ellana makes her think they're reciprocated, even in a small way, Cassandra might not ever believe I could ignore them."

Solas nodded. "And I, of course, wish no part of seeing even the pretense. So, Commander, now you know the ground ahead of you. I'll leave the tactical decisions in your hands," he said. He stood abruptly. "It's late. Thank you for allowing me the time to speak."

"I appreciate that you came to me," said Cullen with as much warmth as he could muster. He stood as well, and held out his hand. The mage blinked, but shook it in the human style as easily as he could.

"I still don't trust you," said Cullen impulsively. The man obviously preferred honesty, and it was better he knew.

"Good," said Solas. A weary smile rose on his lips. "I'm not trustworthy. If I step wrong, it's comforting to know someone as dangerous as you is watching. To make sure I fall."

"Then why return?" he asked, even while the answer hummed inside of him.

"There's a reason I call her my heart, Commander," said Solas. "I may or may not be able to protect her from me. Who can guard their own heart against pain with any success? But the heart is also the only means of life we are permitted."

He left quietly. Cullen climbed into his room and stared unseeing at the familiar stars above him until he fell into restless, broken, lonely sleep.


	19. The Archer

"So, which plan do you want to hear first?"

Cullen put his head in his hands. "Sera, while I appreciate the offer of help, I really think -"

"Okay so there's mine, but that's obviously the best so save it for last, yeah? Dorian thinks you should go straight romance, right, chocolate and foot massages and whatever other weird crap they do up there. He says there's books in the library about wooing. He's looking," she said, then snorted. "But Cass is too smart for all that shite, right? She reads the books and knows all the tricks. She'll think you're just having a laugh at her."

Against his will he found himself nodding alongside her.

"Viv, excuse me, the Diviiiiiine, said to go marriage proposal right off," she continued.

He almost lost the little breakfast he'd eaten.

"In Orlais, I guess that's kind of like the opening shot before the real fight starts. But that's a little uh, not you. Cute, I guess, but not too much going on in the words area," she said with a smirk. "Same thing I said to the ambassador. But she sent this poem for you to read to her. Under a tree, she said." Sera handed it to him between two fingers, like it was a dead fish.

He read the first few lines, got as far as exploring the 'pearl of her pleasure' in a way he'd never even thought about, and stopped short. He was no mage, but he was pretty sure he was only minutes away from lighting the paper on fire.

Sera laughed as she studied his face. "Yeah, that's Antivan something or other. Seemed kind of forward for Your Blushiness."

"Please tell me there are no more plans," he said, balling up the paper and tossing it very far away.

"Oh yeah, tons. I mean I have a lot just from me. But we'll keep it simple," she said. "Bull wants you to fight her, but naked fighting. I like that, especially if we all get to watch. Varric wrote a story about you saving her from some thing or other, like a cart that's like, out of control down the street and there are babies and Chantry ladies and stuff to get out of the way and then you can be a hero. But you died in the end, so maybe not the best plan."

She leaned forward. "I think he's still pretty pissed that you made her cry," she whispered loudly.

"I'll apologize for it, to him and to her, a thousand times, if you will just leave," said Cullen.

"Hey, I don't care. Apologies are stupid anyway," she said. "Let's see. Okay my idea. You find her, wait until she's alone and thinking some goopy stuff about the Maker or honor or whatever you two do when you don't have any wars to plan. And you come up behind her and snog her brains out."

"I see," he said.

"Sex, right? It's the best. See, it's like, when she told us, me and Varric and Bull I mean, about why she was crying," she began.

Cullen broke in. "Why did she tell you? Cassandra doesn't exactly share herself with the world."

Sera stared at him like he was insane. "We made her. Because, you know, Cassandra crying. What is that. Anyway, when she was telling the story, she had a good look on her face for the bed parts. So you must be alright at it. Even with all that," she said and waved her hand vaguely at his groin, "getting in the way. And it seems like, from Bull's information, there was a lot in the way. If you know what I mean."

This was almost worse than the poetry. "Thank you. I appreciate the advice and will take all of your suggestions on board," he said, trying to ignore how red he was.

"That means you're not going to do any of them, right?" He stayed silent, and she sighed. "Fine. Do the earnest, longing, fluttery eyes thing you always do. Cass won't notice anymore than Her Glowiness did."

She hopped off of the edge of his desk and headed for the door. "Why are you trying to help me?" he asked before she left. It was a purposeless question, but he still had to try. "I thought you were set against me. On her side."

"What, the arrow? That was just fun," she said. "I mean, if you'd come back still having puppies for the Inquisitor it would be one thing, but I like the little guy, yeah? They can't help themselves out much. And for a big guy you're about as little as it gets."

He knew he shouldn't have asked. He sighed heavily and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Sera hesitated, then said in a softer voice, "Besides, I think the sides are kind of the same, here."

Cullen looked back at her, an uncertain smile on his lips. "She really enjoyed our… time together?"

Sera grinned. "Oh yeah," she said.

She bounced out, and he pulled another pile of papers to him. They were boring, dry and in altogether the wrong order, but his smile never dimmed as he read them.

* * *

He had one more visitor that morning, even more unexpected than a manic elf but equally alarming. Cullen was talking to one of his newer corporals when Iron Bull loomed in his doorway so suddenly that the man squeaked mid-sentence, then turned a deep shade of purple. The soldier tried to find his train of thought again, but he never quite managed it, and eventually Cullen dismissed the poor man to collect himself somewhere else.

Cullen gave Bull an exasperated look. "Must you purposefully terrify my men?"

"Yeah. It's the best part of the job. Well, second best, since you've got a tavern right here and they never charge me," said Bull. He took up his position on the couch again and grinned when Cullen glared at his choice of seating. "This was even more comfortable last night."

"I imagine it was," said Cullen. He certainly had imagined, quite vividly.

The qunari adjusted the patch over his eye. "So. When I walked the Seeker back, she swore she would never be with you again."

His heart sank to the stone below his feet. If Cassandra said something like that, she meant it. She didn't make oaths lightly.

Bull's mouth twitched. "Okay, she didn't say that. Man, your face," he said. The amusement fled quickly. "She might, though, if you don't straighten your shit out."

"Bull, I heard what you said last night, but I'm sure Cassandra doesn't think I'm here for Ellana," said Cullen.

"Oh, are you sure of that? It must be nice, to be so sure of things," said Bull, rolling the eye Cullen could see. "The way the Seeker tells it, the Inquisitor is the only thing that's ever gotten you motivated. She threatened you with Ellana's disapproval at the Seeker camp to get you to stay, you almost killed a guy at that dinner party for insulting her - though on that one I wish I'd been there to finish the job - and a letter from her is what got you back here after Cassandra gave up trying," he said. "And you spent last night scowling at everything that wasn't her."

Cullen sputtered. "That's… none of that is true," he said finally. "I stayed with the Seekers because Cassandra asked me to. I did lose my temper with a man, but he insulted both of them, and I only did it because Cassandra didn't do it first. And the letter was from Leliana, and I set fire to it anyway. I came back because, well… not because of Ellana."

"Still can't bring yourself to say it?" asked Bull.

"Not to you."

The qunari shrugged, but he was grinning.

"As for last night," said Cullen, "Ellana was the only person there who wasn't angry with me, leering at me, or laughing at me. Was I supposed to pretend to hate her? I'd have been happy to talk to Cassandra alone if anyone would have let me."

Bull didn't look apologetic. "It wouldn't have been the right time. You would have seriously fucked it up," he said. "Trust me, I've seen you in action for years now. Luckily you've convinced me that you're just clueless and not malicious here, and I think you finally have the right end of the stick, so I'm going to help you out."

"How kind of you."

The quanari leaned back easily. "So stop snapping at everyone but the boss, for one. But look. You came here expecting to step into a space that was waiting for you to show up. But she's pissed. Mostly at herself. And that kind of anger doesn't just go away."

"Why would she be angry with herself? I'm the one who did everything wrong."

"No argument here. But she thinks she tricked you into bed and lost a friend. She thinks you'll never forgive her for using you," said Bull.

He would have laughed if it wasn't so heartbreaking. "Well, that's a familiar feeling," he said.

"Yeah, I figured," said Bull. "Either way, you can't just jump in head first. Her bed might look empty but she's sleeping next to a whole lot of guilt." The qunari stood. "That's all I've got. Romance isn't my thing, generally, especially the way you humans do it. But good luck, for all that."

* * *

An hour later, the Commander made his way down to the room where he held his meetings. If anyone had seen him, they would have wondered at the blush on his cheeks and the nervous bounce in his step. A very observant person might have seen the slight movements of his lips as he said a Chant under his breath. They certainly would have questioned the single flower he held in his hand.

When he reached the room, Cullen laid the flower gently at Cassandra's usual seat. His fingers grazed over it, just slightly, as he gathered his shredded courage to himself. He hoped this would be sign enough to at least open the door to conversation. To show her the opposite of hatred, and the opposite of Ellana. To be slow, yet romantic. To be comforting, yet enticing. It was a lot to ask from one blossom, or quite frankly from him, but it was the only thing he could think to do. With a prayer in his heart, he walked to his chair at the head of the table and proceeded to wait.

His captains arrived first, and they welcomed him back warmly. They did no more than glance at the bloom on the table as they took their places. He nodded approval. They were not only well-trained fighters, but they kept their ears to the ground when it came to gossip about their Commander and knew how to keep it from their faces. Perhaps it was time for him to expand their knowledge to all of those little things he'd never written down.

Vivienne arrived in a cloud of robes. As usual, she'd foregone the traditional hat, but something about the way she moved made Cullen see it anyway. She tipped her head to him coolly, but a smile lurked on her lips as she stared at him from the foot of the table.

Blackwall and Bull appeared next, together, and that was surprise. Cullen had been sure Bull would come with Cassandra, if only to needle him again, but the qunari just shrugged when he questioned him with his eyes. Blackwall wasn't as good at hiding his thoughts. The Warden tugged at his beard to keep a smirk off of his face as the men took their usual places, flanking the flowered seat. When he caught Cullen's glance he gave him a slight nod.

"Is the Lady Seeker coming?" asked Cullen finally.

"She must be freshening up," said Bull. "She worked her ass off in the yard this morning."

Cassandra had never freshened up in her life, sometimes coming to meetings, even with dignitaries, sweaty and out of breath, blood still dripping from a slash she hadn't dodged. Cullen was about to say as much when the door opened for the last time, and she walked in.

Once again he was struck with how present she was. Everything else faded to her, and all of the archdemons in Thedas couldn't have torn his eyes from her face. He should have spent every minute he was with her learning it, strong and determined and carved in a beauty that he'd rarely appreciated. How could he have traveled with her so long, been with her so long, and ever looked away?

She hesitated at the door, as uncertain as she ever got, and he waved her into the room with a hand that shook only slightly. "I'm sorry to be late," she said quietly as she moved around the table. The grace of her hips was mesmerizing, especially alongside the vivid memories he had of their more pleasurable movements. Even the mail she wore was somehow alluring, fitted to her form in a way that seemed impossible.

"We haven't started yet," he said automatically, but he was busy waiting to see her reaction. He knew he was staring, and he sensed the amusement of the room, but they didn't matter. Only this did.

She paused behind Bull's chair and gasped, so lightly that he might not have noticed if every part of his body hadn't been so focused on her. Her lips parted, and her eyes flicked to his from the flower once. Just once, and only for a moment, but it was enough. And then it was more than enough when she sat down and reached out with a steady hand to pick it up. She brought it to her face, just as she'd done outside of the Seeker camp, and it waved against her lips as she breathed in its fragrance.

It took everything in him not to clear the room and take Sera's advice to heights even she hadn't imagined.

But that would be head first. That would be exactly what he wasn't supposed to do. He settled for saying, "For your collection," in a rough voice that had the table coughing like a sickroom.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, then opened them again to become the Commander. When he looked at Vivienne, her eyebrows were raised in amusement. "Divine Victoria, how are the mages?"

"Underappreciated, Commander, but happy for all that," she said in a businesslike voice that brought the meeting back to what it should be. Which was why he'd chosen her to speak first. She gave her report, then his captains and the rest. Cullen sank so deeply into his role that by the time Cassandra reported on the Templars in her rich, warm accent, he only lost his focus once, when she ran her finger along her cheek in consideration after a question. He was rather proud of that.

He'd made notes as they spoke, and he pretended to read them over while he dismissed them all with a deliberately casual wave. He'd taken a new step, and the stone had been there. She'd picked up the flower and understood it, at least in part. But he wouldn't force her to stay and speak to him, alone and unprotected by their friends. As much as he wanted to race ahead, she needed time to get used to him. To remember him as he had been, the man she dreamed of, and learn him as he was now, the man who dreamed of her. She needed time to forget the middle section where he'd been nothing but pain. He heard the door open and close as feet shuffled out.

When he looked up, Cassandra was standing next to him, the only one in the room.

He pushed his chair back and stood hastily. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you," he said. "I, uh, was just making some notes."

She clasped the flower in one of her hands, and she ran her other over its petals absently. He licked his lips. Maker, he could practically feel her fingertips on his skin. Not like with Ellana, a ghost of a dream, but the memory of reality, hot and pressing. Cassandra wasn't close enough to him, not nearly close enough, but it would take just a small movement to draw her into him. To hold her again. This time in full knowledge of everything she gave him, and everything he would give her. Lyrium was nothing to the heady intoxication of this woman.

He looked at her apprehensively. His desire couldn't be so obvious if he wanted her to stay. Or could it? He hadn't prepared for this.

"Commander," she said.

"Cullen," he answered quickly. She frowned, and he touched the table lightly. "This is the Commander." He moved his hand to the bloom she held. His fingers brushed against hers, just a little, and she jerked back as though he'd shocked her. He wasn't feeling much better. "This is Cullen," he said in a hoarse voice.

She didn't say anything, and he essayed a small smile. "Besides, I like the way you say my name."

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Commander," she said with emphasis, and his smile died. Cassandra seemed to steel herself, then spoke quickly. "I appreciate that you have returned to the Inquisition. I've learned that the time you were away did not go as smoothly as was understood, which shows that I was correct in believing you necessary. For that, I welcome your presence here."

Cullen took a half-step back and narrowed his eyes. This had the feeling of a rehearsed speech, and it wasn't going in a direction he liked. "But otherwise?"

"Otherwise I believe our working relationship should be as unburdened as possible by any past confusions which might hinder our ability to perform our duties," she said. Her eyes met his briefly before dropping back to his chest. "I spent much of the night considering the position we find ourselves in, and I have come to the conclusion that your assertion was correct. What I believed to be something overwhelming was merely a fantasy, much as a book, and you need not fear that I will attempt to renew any statements I made as a result of that mistake."

He couldn't find a response, but it didn't matter because she barely paused. "I accept this gift as a peace offering, and a possible symbol that you have forgiven my poor judgment and are willing to allow me to continue in my role. If, however, that is not the case, I will leave Skyhold, with your permission, and search out the other Seekers, to do the Inquisition's work elsewhere."

"No!" he said. Leave Skyhold? When he'd just chained himself back to the desk? Please, no. "Stay, of course."

"Thank you," she said.

He stared at her downcast eyes, trying to think of something to say. He didn't believe her. Even if he didn't want it to be false with every fiber of his being, he would have known. She was a terrible liar when it came to actually telling a falsehood instead of concealing a truth. She was lying, because of Ellana, because she was angry with herself, because she was attempting to be kind, because of whatever it was. It didn't matter. She was lying. But he didn't know how to say that without appearing accusatory. Or worse, like he was dictating her feelings to her. That was the last thing he wanted.

At his silence, she turned to leave, and a scent drifted across the air. He grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around, barely noticing when she tensed into a fighting stance. "You used soap," he said.

She looked at him like he'd said Varric was a dwarf. "Yes. It's used for cleaning one's skin," she said warily. "I realize it may not be much known in Ferelden."

Cullen laughed, a real laugh of relief and joy. He stepped closer to her, enjoying the way her breath caught as he ran his hand down her arm, where the mail wasn't. "You never do that after your morning workout," he said. "You wash with the cleanest water you can find, but never soap, because soap will dry your skin and make you bleed when you practice later during the day. Or ride, if you're traveling. You only wash with soap at night, before you sleep."

Her expression changed from caution to embarrassment. "It was a warm morning, and I thought it would be better…"

"No," he said, smiling at her. "It was for me. In case I ignored everything you said and got close enough to notice." He suited actions to words and moved the last small distance between them, close enough to feel her breath across his skin. He almost groaned. Metal was in the way of what he truly wanted, but this near to her his body didn't seem to care.

She tried to look away, but he took her chin between his fingers and drew her back to him. "I know because I did the same thing for you yesterday," he said. "I was hoping we would be alone."

Her hand rose to his face cautiously. It was the one holding the flower. When it brushed his cheek, when her finger ran across his jawline, he closed his eyes and shuddered underneath her touch. "I've missed you," he whispered. She sighed agreement, and the sound tightened every muscle in his body until he felt he would shatter. It was exquisite torture, but he wanted so much more of it.

He opened his eyes snaked his hand around the back of her head. Her lips were parted and pink and tempting in front of him. He leaned forward and tasted that sinful upper lip, the one she'd teased him with the night before when he couldn't satisfy his need. He could now, and he stopped tracing it with his tongue only when her mouth widened and invited him in. Lazily, easily, he explored her. He smiled when her own tongue pressed against his in gentle, soft desire.

Cullen was aching for her, but they didn't need to rush. He moved his mouth across her cheek to her ear and nibbled at the lobe. She gasped and pulled him closer, and he chuckled. "Cassandra," he said quietly, loving the way she trembled at his voice. "Did you really only think about being _apart_ from me last night?"

"No," she murmured. Her fingers twined in his hair, drawing his mouth to the curve of her neck.

"Good," he said. He planted an open-mouthed kiss on soft, scented skin and licked at the pulse that was beating just a little faster. "Because I read some scandalous Antivan poetry this morning that I would love to try with you."

Her hand clenched into a fist, and she yanked him away from her. He cried out and glared at her. "Hey! What was that for?"

"Why were you reading smutty Antivan poetry?" she asked suspiciously. She released him, but he knew better than to try to recapture her with that look on her face.

"Sera gave it to me. Well, Josephine, but through Sera," he said, rubbing the sore spot on back of his head. "They were trying to help me approach you successfully." He smiled with a touch of arrogance. "I knew I didn't need their help."

Cassandra gave him a considering look. "Then why did you ask for it?"

"I didn't. I'm not good at hiding what I want, apparently, and they're almost as hard to deny as you," he said. He ran a finger down her cheek. "Sera said she was trying to help both of us. She said you enjoyed me. I hope she was right," he added a little doubtfully.

His doubt changed to total confusion when she extracted herself from him and took a long step away. "What did I do this time?" he asked. He heard the heat of real anger in his voice, and he hated it, but there was only so much a man could take.

"Forgive me," she said, a pained expression in her eyes. "I misunderstood you. I did enjoy being with you, of course. But that was a temporary arrangement. Now that we are here, permanently, I don't think I can carry on a… physical relationship with you." She drew her arms around her waist. "I'm sorry that I failed to control myself. A mistake. It won't happen again."

"It had better happen again," he said with relief. "That's not what I'm -"

The door flew open, and a messenger entered with an urgent summons to the Inquisitor's chambers. His mind hitched and tried to reorient itself to this new intrusion. The first thing he saw after he gathered his wits was Cassandra slipping out behind the runner like a ghost, pale and quiet once more.


	20. Ellana

"What's happened?"

Ellana stood on her balcony drinking in the day's sunlight, but half-turned at his voice. Cullen had kept himself in check on the walk through the hold, reasoning that anything that summoned him to her private rooms must be important enough to warrant his patience. A gathering in her quarters, unplanned and unannounced, had only happened a handful of times. All during the war, and all during times of great emergency. He'd stayed calm, even when he'd seen no one ahead of him. Perhaps he'd simply been the quickest.

Now, seeing her calm and serene under the sunlight, his anger was slipping its leash. The tremor in his voice was only the first sign. A man could only take so much indeed.

Solas sat at her desk reading, but he glanced up sharply at his tone. Cullen read the message on his face uninterestedly. The elf understood his anger, but Solas was prepared to step in if Cullen lost himself. Let him try. He was no Captain Vale. He didn't fear mages anymore.

"Nothing," she said, stepping back into the room. "I just wanted to see how you were settling back in."

"There's no emergency," he said flatly.

"No," she said. "Unless you know something?"

He ignored the question. "You interrupted me to ask how I'm settling in."

"Oh Creators, I'm sorry. Were you doing something important?"

"I was with Cassandra," he said.

Her eyes widened. "So soon? I haven't even had time to do anything yet," she muttered.

Cullen took a deep breath. Solas rose and glided across the room to Ellana's side. She didn't notice either of them, clearly following some internal line of her own. "But I told them not to bother you if you were in your room, " she said, then gasped. "Oh no. You weren't in her room, were you?"

"We were in my meeting room," he said.

"Oh, okay," she said. Her eyes brightened. "Does that mean Cassandra heard you called up here?"

"As a matter of fact, she did."

Solas rubbed a hand over her shoulder and said quietly, "Perhaps it would have been better for the Commander if she hadn't."

Ellana cut him a warning look. "No. This is fine. This is perfect," she said. She turned back to Cullen. "Have you eaten yet? Let's have lunch. A quick one. An hour should be fine."

She nodded to herself happily, and Cullen broke.

He was two men, side by side. One was furious, a man on the edge of violence, frustrated and pushed beyond his limits. That man was striding across the room, not to strike or wound, but to grab the Inquisitor by the shoulders and shake her until she stopped meddling with his life. He would find Cassandra and corner her until all the misunderstandings were swept away, all his sins were forgiven, and things were on a normal path once more. He was a man without patience, clear and sharp and deadly.

Cullen recognized him as he floated between his selves. He was the gauntleted fists from Kinloch, demanding the Wardens kill every mage in the tower. The unforgiving boots on Kirkwall's rotted streets. The voice that threatened dinner guests who disrespected the people he loved. He was the Templar, and his dream of Solona held more truth than he wanted. He wore their brand on his skin. No matter how far he ran, he carried that lingering evil with him.

Solas shifted to draw his gaze. Cullen looked at him, slowly, and the elf opened his free hand to him in a gesture of invitation. If Cullen needed to be this man, Solas would take his rage. Before he could even think to ask why Solas would offer, something feral swirled in the elf's eyes, and Cullen knew that he also understood what it was to have a part of himself that was shameful and dark.

But there was the second Cullen to consider, the one who saw the happiness lighting Ellana's face from the inside. She thought she was helping him. She wasn't, but she wanted to, that much was clear. The mark on her hand glowed lightly, a scar that would never leave her. It was a thing that would probably kill her, despite Solas's magic and the care they all took with the use of her powers.

And the second Cullen also saw the loneliness that lurked under her joy. It must be hard to be the world's savior after the world was saved. He'd never thought about it much. He had a job he could leave, and almost had. She had a calling that tied her to this role forever. The mark would always set her apart from the rest of the world, Inquisitor or no. Corypheus had been the last thing tied to the orb that had created her, the last thing that might ever have understood what she was. The magister was better gone, but now she was alone.

Was it any wonder she tried to make the world around her a little brighter? To make them even more a family than they'd made themselves? She loved them all enough to hold them inside her heart. She'd never stepped back from the light inside her duty. She'd never given into the despair that burdened the rest, even after Haven. After Adamant. And Cullen loved her, too, in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with devotion and admiration. He saw the difference, now, but the love was no less real.

If she would do this for him, despite her burdens, he would do more for her. He would be the bright side of himself, whenever he could. And when he couldn't, Cassandra would be the light in his darkness. She always had.

He breathed once, twice, and pushed the anger far away.

"Lunch would be fine. But we need to talk."

* * *

Stammering only a little, he explained as much of the story as he could while they ate, starting with Cassandra's recruitment of him. Ellana sat quietly until he got to the beginnings of his shy, unspoken love for her. "You? And me?" she asked. The look on her face was halfway between amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, yes, alright," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I realize that I'm not the stuff of dreams."

"No, don't say that," she said quickly. "I didn't mean it that way. You're very handsome and brave and sweet, just like all the human stories. Dorian showed me a book of Fereldan fairy tales, and the prince on the cover looked so much like you that we thought you'd surely been the artist's inspiration."

Somehow that didn't make him feel better, though he had to smile when she added, "I actually left it on Cassandra's bedside table once, to get her thinking about you more. It sounds like I should have found a book with her picture on it for you." She frowned. "Do Nevarrans tell fairy tales?"

"Their stories are more focused on the glory of the dead," said Solas. "Not romances."

"Oh. That wouldn't have worked then," she said. "Anyway, it's not that you aren't attractive, Cullen. Quite the opposite. But we never would have worked. You're so serious. I had a hard time matching you even in the War Room. You'd be exasperated with me very quickly."

"I'm sure that's not true. Solas seems to manage," said Cullen.

She laughed so hard tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, he hates it. He's forever encouraging me to think more deeply on things. Aren't you, _hahren_?" she asked him.

"Yes, _da'len_ , I think it would prevent conversations like these," said Solas. The smile on his face softened his words, but there was something edged in it when he added, "And then I wouldn't have to listen to you discuss how attractive the Commander is."

She rolled her eyes and kissed the mage sweetly. "He just looks like a fairy tale. You are one, _harellan_ ," she said in low tones. To Cullen's surprise, Solas blushed a deep crimson and looked away.

Ellana turned back to Cullen with a satisfied smile. "Besides, wouldn't a Templar and mage romance be a little too obvious? I think warriors and mages should stick to each other. Less opportunities for trouble."

Cullen grinned. "I couldn't agree more," he said. His smile faded. "Though warriors can have their own struggles. And may continue to do so, if you continue to try to rouse her jealousy."

She sobered. "Tell me," she said.

He sped the story up, starting with his despair at begin sent away, following with Cassandra's exasperation with him, the signs he'd missed, and what had happened when she followed him to the farm. When he told them how he'd told her he didn't care for her and let her leave without saying goodbye, even Solas made a noise of disbelief.

"That is not my fault," said Ellana. She crossed her arms and looked at Solas. "Right?"

Solas nodded, and Cullen glared at them. "Okay, yes. But now she thinks I came back for love of you, probably because she told me I could have had you, had I tried." Solas growled, and Cullen added, "Obviously she was wrong. And it doesn't matter. But this morning I managed to give her the impression that I came back to love you but sleep with her, like some kind of monster, and now you've invited me to your room. She's likely more decided against me than ever."

He put his head in his hands. "I can't even trust myself to go back to her without making it even worse. Other men would have learned how to do this long ago. They wouldn't be this damned inept. I thought it would be so easy to win her," he said. He sighed. "I'm an idiot."

"Oh Cullen. You are a little," said Ellana. He looked at her balefully, and she smiled. "It's true. But Cassandra likes you anyway. I know she does. So do you. Even idiots are allowed to be in love."

He stood. "Well, thank you. I'm sure I'll figure out something to say," he said. "It's been a help to discuss it, at least."

"Cullen, wait. I promise not to help anymore, but can I give you some advice?" she asked hesitantly.

"Always," he said.

"You know Cassandra better than any of us, except maybe Leliana. Instead of finding a way to talk to her, which you are clearly poorly suited for, why not look for something that will speak to her without words? There must be something that will signify to her that you're serious without a speech," she said. "Solas found it with me. And no, you don't get to know what it was."

He hadn't been planning to ask. "I already did. I gave her a flower," he said. Ellana looked skeptical, and he added, "It makes sense if you know the whole story. It worked, until I got in my own way."

"Find something else, then," she said. "There's always something."

Cullen thought deeply, listening to the wind rushing across the balcony. They both gave him space and silence to think, but his mind was persistently, frustratingly blank. He wasn't good at this. He never had been. React to a threat, plan a campaign, think carefully of the implications of a battle, yes to all of those things. But to lay siege? Adamant had nearly ended in disaster. And as far as offensive strikes, there was a reason that the Inquisition forces were known as a hammer instead of a scalpel. Cullen had learned his strengths long ago, and whatever wild bravery had gotten him here was fizzling away under the pressures of reality.

He was about to admit defeat when a bird flashed in the corner of his eye, the bright yellow of the sun over the fields. And then he knew.

"Excuse me, I need to find Varric."

* * *

He found the dwarf in the training yard, shooting crossbow bolts absentmindedly at a target while swords flashed around him. Cassandra and Iron Bull were sparring in the corner, and Cullen spared a quick minute to watch her. Her back was to him, so he wasn't distracting her even if he could, and he was pleased to see that her sword work was even better than it had been before.

He frowned. Or she'd been going easy on him the entire time. Well, he would talk to her about that later. When they were talking at all.

Bull saw him watching and gave him a wink. The qunari suddenly picked up the pace, and Cassandra matched him easily. She was all grace and powerful lines, and even a fighter as experienced as Bull had to work to keep up with her speed. Cullen stood motionless, completely lost in admiration. She was beautiful.

Without warning, Bull circled with a quickness that those who didn't know him would never suspect. Cassandra whirled to follow and stopped short when she saw Cullen. Fortunately Bull had known exactly what he was doing and was already moving to his water skin, as though the break had been planned. "Hey Commander," he said easily. "Come to watch or work?"

Naked fighting had been Bull's suggestion, hadn't it? If only that was what he'd come for. "Just watching. Very impressive," he said.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she." said Bull.

Cassandra scowled and threw a sweaty cloth at the qunari. "I assure you he's won every bout today," she said. Her voice was the kind of annoyed that did not bode well for her opponents.

"I think that might change, now," said Cullen, and Bull smiled. Cassandra didn't, but her expression became that small fraction lighter. Just enough to bolster his confidence.

"But I actually need to talk to Varric. If you're not busy?" he said to the dwarf.

He got a dark look in return, but Varric stood easily enough. "Sure. But I'll need all of my crossbow bolts first. Wouldn't want to be without those."

* * *

It took him longer than he expected to talk Varric into helping him. The dwarf was so angry that Cullen eventually had to ask, "Do you have feelings for her?"

"Andraste's ass dimples, no. You humans are all the same. They banter, so they must be in love!" said Varric. "I already have my lady." He caressed the crossbow next to him in a smooth movement.

"Then what's going on?"

"Look, Cassandra… she's tough. She sure as hell doesn't need me to protect her feelings. Usually. But she told me that she's no longer interested in my romance serial, when she's never failed to glower over me until the next installment was finished before. And that means that someone did a real number on her. Anyone who hurts her that bad, he must be a true asshole," said Varric. "I try to make it a policy not to deal with assholes. Anders taught me a lasting lesson, there."

"You're comparing me to a terrorist," said Cullen flatly. "A murderer."

"If the breeches fit," said Varric, but his eyes softened a little.

Cullen sighed. "Sometimes it feels like I did just as much damage. But I swear I'll do better," he said. Inspiration struck. "I'm going to do this no matter what. You can't stop me. If you want to make sure I do it right and give me the best chance of fixing this, you'll help me. Otherwise who knows how much I might hurt her in my failure." He tried to look even more incompetent than he already felt.

The dwarf looked impressed. "The upright Commander, resorting to blackmail. Sappy, emotional blackmail, but it's a start. You must be serious," he said. "Fine. Tell me what you need."

* * *

The interruptions were plentiful as Cullen took care of the business of the Inquisition alongside the business of his heart. They were up late into the night, his quill scratching on the page, Varric marking others and handing them back for him to rewrite cleanly. As the day went on, the dwarf had grown more enthusiastic about the project, even going so far as to find glue and other materials unbidden.

At last they were done, and Cullen looked at his ladder blearily. He was probably going to be sleeping on the couch, this time.

Varric yawned and stretched as he stood. "That about does it. Don't say I never did anything for you."

"Thank you," said Cullen. "Really."

"No problem. I think _Swords and Shields_ will have its most faithful reader back after all," said Varric with a grin. He turned to leave, but stopped at a noise from Cullen. "Yes?"

"I have to know," he said. "Did Genevieve's sister kill the Viscount?"

"Why, Commander, I had no idea I'd gained a new following in the barracks!" said Varric. His eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "My publisher will be thrilled. Tell you what, you come up with a blurb for the next installment, and I'll let you have a peek at my notes."

Cullen stared at him in horror. Varric ran a hand along his jaw. "Yes, an endorsement from the Commander of the Inquisition will certainly be good for sales. And they've been looking for a Rolan model to pose for the cover of the final compilation. I always pictured him with dark hair, but we can fudge it. We'll talk, Curly," he said.

He shut the door behind him with a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Cullen flopped sideways on the couch, eyes already closing. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he should have volunteered his fandom at the beginning. It might have saved a bit of arguing.


	21. Cassandra

"Will you read this?"

It was just after dawn, and he looked like death. His sleep had been deep and too brief, but he knew he'd find Cassandra in the training yard alone at an early hour. Even though she'd worked yesterday, that wouldn't stop her. When she was rested, she woke herself with training. When she was exhausted, she simply doubled the time spent. Besides, she was like him. She took out frustration with work.

The only comfort was that he felt better than he looked, thanks to Ellana. She'd crept into his office at the dawn and poured restorative magic into him while he'd struggled to open his eyes. He'd tried to shoo her away, to protest the use of so much magic on a body that should be used as sparingly as possible, but she'd been undeterred. "I left the bags under your eyes," she said. "That will make you look pathetic and gain her sympathy."

"I thought you weren't helping anymore," he said. But he'd had to admit, he felt better.

"Just this once," she said. "To make up for giving you the impression that I was trying to make you quit. Which you can never do, by the way." She gave him a forbidding look. "But don't tell Solas I'm doing it."

She smiled at him, then, and it was the smile of a scheming sister and a fierce friend. Cullen stood and hugged her tightly. She was small and fragile in his arms, but he wasn't afraid of that anymore. "Thank you," he said. He pulled back and looked at her. "I have to say I like you much better as a friend than I ever loved you as a woman."

Ellana rolled her eyes. "If that's the kind of thing you say to Cassandra, no wonder you're in trouble," she said. She pushed him towards the door. "Go, brave knight. Woo your lady."

And now he was here, and Cassandra was staring at him like he'd grown another head. "What is it?" she asked, glancing at the rough binding of papers in his hand.

"It's for you," he said. "Please read it." Don't make me say more words, he wanted to say. I'll only stumble over them.

She stretched out her hand and took it reluctantly. He smiled at her as best he could while his heart was thudding so erratically, then turned to go back to his office. He wasn't running, he told himself. He was making a strategic retreat to increase her curiosity.

The fact that he closed and locked his door behind him and leaned against it in relief had nothing at all to do with anything.

* * *

_There once was a knight, tall and fair. He lived in a tower on the edge of the black forest of the world, serving the masters who held back its nightmares. He stood on the three pillars of his self, hope and faith and love, but his masters scored them, weakening them to turn the knight to their own purpose. They fed him magic, pure and raw, and it made him sick, but he never complained. He had a duty. The knight kept lonely vigil, never seeing the world around him, only the blackness he kept away._

_But the vigil ended in failure. Monsters entered the tower, it fell, and the world ended. The knight's pillars crumbled, the forest overran them all, and his masters were scattered to the winds. But the earth still turned after the end of the world, and the people in the light placed their fear in front of him. They begged him for strength and goodness, and though he had none, he tried to be what was asked. He found a new place, a new stronghold from which to watch the forest, and he once again took up his endless vigil. His heart was heavy and gone, but he had a duty. He poured more magic into himself, trying to feel anything but fear. He didn't, for a long time._

_A princess found him there, and she was tall and dark and beautiful beyond measure. Her heart was her strength, pure and clear enough to hold away the nightmares that still lingered in his mind. She tried to turn the knight away from the darkness, back to the world and its wonders, but the knight despised the truth of her and gave her nothing but anger._

_But she was generous with her power, and she took his anger into herself, trying to turn it into joy. He could never accept it, for he had no hope in the future nor faith in himself._

_The princess found the knight in a garden one day, shaking and broken, and she offered him a new duty. She would forge a new place, one that wasn't fearful but fair and just, and she would trust him to be strong enough to protect it. She placed the most powerful piece of her heart into his hand, the piece that would be the seed of her promised world. It was perfect diamond, precious and irreplaceable._

_He knew he wasn't fit for the duty and begged her to find another. The princess wouldn't, and she swore to him that the charge would always be his. The knight wept, for he felt something stir inside him for the first time since the end of the world. He looked into her eyes and what he saw was hope. That was the first kindness._

_The work was difficult, and the knight made mistakes. She was always patient with him, but he felt the new failures in his soul. His hope faded, for he wasn't as strong as the princess needed him to be. One night, when the hope had dimmed to the last flicker of the last fire, he looked at the diamond he carried with him everywhere. If he fell, what would happen to it? What would happen to her? She'd sworn to him he wouldn't break, and she never lied._

_With the last remnants of hope, he threw away the magic he'd accepted into his body for so long. He ached down to the deepest bone when its numbness fled. He twisted underneath the moon as nightmares poured out of the forest in the face of his new vulnerability. But in the day he was clearer, and he was almost enough for what was needed. Half weakness, half strength._

_But when the nightmares grew larger, too much to fight, he went to the princess to tell her to take back the diamond. He begged her again to give it to someone safer, someone who didn't suffer through the night to stumble through the day._

_The princess refused, and she closed his hand back over what he held. She told him that he was chosen, that he was trusted, and she would never take the duty from him. She believed in the knight, more than he'd ever believed in himself. He looked at his hand in hers and what he knew was faith. That was the second kindness._

_The days wore on, and the knight healed. Sustained on hope and bolstered by faith, the nightmares subsided and the days were bright and clean. But as the knight returned to himself, he forgot the generosity of the princess. Her kindnesses were lost in his selfish pride and the knowledge that he could be whole once more. He knew that he was stronger and wiser than any man had ever been. The diamond was secure, ready to flower into its promise, and there was no danger of its loss._

_So when the knight searched for love, the final pillar to complete his self, he remembered the sharp rush of magic and sought it out again. A maiden, brave and strange, caught his eye, and he spent the days drinking her in from afar while the princess faded away._

_The new world he'd been promised came to pass. The seed grew into a fortress, then a city, then a land that was rich and green where the forest was a distant memory to all. The knight tried to rejoice in its light and the fulfillment of all of his dreams, but he was stubbornly, achingly lost with only the two pillars of himself intact. He held to the center of things, guarding the seed that still flourished as he'd been charged, but he despaired at the love he couldn't have._

_When the despair grew too great, the princess would find him again. She would smile and touch his arm and whisper that he was needed. And the pain would subside for a time._

_One day the distant maiden became maiden no longer, flowering under the love of a man the knight would never be. The knight felt the empty parts of himself keenly, and he knew he would never be whole._

_He abandoned his duty and fled into the darkness of the distant forest, no longer wanting a world that thwarted his vain dreams. The princess pursued, ceaseless and true, heedless of the painful dangers the knight left behind as he ran. When she found him again, kneeling at the edge of the void, she was bloodied and torn from his cruelty. The knight was even crueler in his anger, trying to cast her away from him for all time. And yet she knelt to the knight and gave herself, one last time, to turn the darkness around him into light. Into love. That was the third kindness._

_When the knight came back to himself, she was gone, a whisper on the wind, but the path back to the world was a bright and glowing spirit that he would always recognize. Hope and faith and love, and she was each one together. The knight stumbled down his new road, comforted and afraid in turns._

_When he reached the edge of the forest and stared at the new world she'd made for him, she was no longer waiting inside of it to smile and touch him and make him complete._

_The tall and fair knight, the foolish and alone man, cried out at the loss. He fell to his knees and prayed. Please, he said to the stars. What use is this world without the princess to stand for me in the center of things? I am broken and weak and I love her, for now and always. Please. Bring her back to me._

* * *

The day wore on slowly as Cullen continued the business of becoming who he had been. He called his captains into his office and made them captains in knowledge instead of merely in name. They spoke for hours about the state of each company, each soldier, and the strengths and weaknesses of the troops.

He did it because they needed to know. He did it because he needed people in his office, a constant distraction from the dread of his stomach. He did it because he could no longer hold command in his hands alone as the means of never being dismissed. He did it because someday he would leave, and someone would need to be there.

The morning turned to afternoon turned to twilight, and still Cassandra didn't come.

Cullen stayed in his office as the sun drifted over the fortress, too afraid to leave. Dorian brought him lunch, wearing a rare, serious expression, and when the mage gripped his shoulder in comfort, Cullen accepted it gladly. Blackwall came to talk about Warden business that could have easily waited and let Cullen spend too much time arguing the nuances of their deployment and Blight research. Dagna stopped in with a letter from his niece that held only one in ten words that he understood, but when the dwarf said she showed an originality of mind he was proud anyway. Even Grim wandered through and sat in silence across the desk while Cullen read and wrote and organized his mind.

All of these friends he'd never known were also family. The Maker had blessed him beyond measure.

As twilight spread over his desk, he lit a candle and found he could work no more. His mind had stopped, like a man who'd walked to the edge of a ravine, and he stared unseeingly at the desk. It was time for something new. He pulled a piece of paper to him, dipped his quill, and began to write again.

_Dear Mia._

A wind wavered the candle. He looked up, and Cassandra was there.

He pushed his chair back so quickly it nearly tipped and fell, but he hardly noticed as he circled around the front of the desk. She was standing in the door, quiet and real, but there was a strange expression on her face. He studied her, trying to guess her mood, trying not to temper observation with his own wants. His only clues were the armor she wasn't wearing, and the bundle of papers in her hand. They were still roughly tied, but he saw the flashes of the flowers he'd glued into their pages so carefully with Varric's help. The princess's kindnesses.

At last she spoke. "There's no ending," she said.

"I don't know what it is yet," he answered. He gripped the wood behind him lightly to keep him still. "I was hoping you would."

The Seeker walked towards him on soft feet. Her eyes never left his face, and he breathed shallowly under their stare. He looked away when she ended her approach in front of him and watched her lay the pages on the desk behind him. On top was the flower he'd given to her the day before, and hope rose in his heart once more.

"Did you like it?" he asked. He brought his eyes back to her face in time to see her brows draw together in a frown.

"No," she said. Her hand rose to his shoulder, powerful and sure. "The knight was much to hard on himself, as usual."

Cullen made a noise of protest and was gearing up to argue when she kissed him. Her mouth was sweetness and surety, and he lost whatever words he'd found. Just as well, he realized later. The path of spoken words had never led him anywhere worth knowing.

His hands slipped around her waist as she deepened the kiss. When she pulled away, he sighed, but he kept his eyes on her face. His fingers brushed against the hem of her tunic in a steady rhythm, trying to soothe away the fear he saw. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Can I be what you want?"

"Yes," he said. "More sure than I've ever been. I'm sorry, Cassandra. So sorry, for everything."

She squeezed his shoulder in silent forgiveness. "What about Ellana?" she asked.

"She's the friend of my heart," he said. "You're the anchor of my soul. I thought it was the other way around for so long, but it never was. I couldn't breathe without you, Cassandra. I don't ever want to again." He rubbed away a tear that slid down her cheek. "Are you sure? Can I be enough for you?"

She pulled him into a tight embrace that he returned with all the strength in his arms. "Yes," she whispered. "It's always been you."

"Good," he said. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "A knight should never be without a princess to adore."

As she grumbled that she still didn't like being called a princess, Cullen looked over her shoulder and saw Cole standing quietly in the open door. The spirit held a finger up to his lips, then stepped lightly to each of the other doors to turn the locks. When he moved back to the first and drew it closed behind him, he flashed one wide grin before vanishing.

Cassandra turned at the sound. "What was that?"

"Privacy," said Cullen, smiling. "Unless you want Sera in here to guard your virtue again."

"I think you've already plundered that most thoroughly," she said. She brushed a finger across his chest and dipped under the shirt to his collarbone.

He shuddered, but he didn't close his eyes. He wanted to watch her darken for him. "There are always new depths to explore," he said. "I've never been with a woman in my office before. Not even in the bed."

Cassandra smiled. "Not all men would hold up their lack of partners as promise of prowess," she said, and he flushed. She kissed him apologetically. "Fortunately you are charming. And I know very well that you are equal to whatever you claim."

"I don't want to disappoint you," he said hesitantly.

"You care for me," she said. "A thing I never thought possible. I can never be disappointed again."

"If anyone can find a way, I can," he muttered.

She took his his face in her hands and held him steady. "Stop," she said. "Do you not know I've taken every good thing in me from you? I forbid you to suffer under my care."

"As you command, my Lady," he said. He put his forehead to hers, and then she was kissing him again, and he was holding her to him like a man drowning. Maybe he was. But he would be happy to drown in her.

Later they found themselves up the ladder, tangled together in a skein of limbs and clothes. He covered her under the darkening sky and whispered love, love burning like the stars, love drifting like the wind in the air. She answered with her voice, with her lips and with her fingers tangling in his hair. It was slow and wondrous, then quick and fevered, then bright and perfect in the cool night air. Near the end, when she moved over him in sweet rhythm, he submitted to the pace of her pleasure and listened to her call his name until they rose and fell as one.

After, she rested against him, molding to his side like she'd been born there. He listened to her breathing while he ran his fingers through her hair and over her skin. She traced little lines on his chest, soft and sure, and he fell asleep to the soothing feeling of her heartbeat under his hand.

* * *

He woke panicked in the darkness, a new and pressing fear around his mind. He peered around him for the danger, then realized it wasn't just fear but loss. Cassandra wasn't next to him.

Cullen sprang to his feet and pulled on the nearest trousers he could find. He slid down the ladder in a rush, but he stopped short when he saw her her sitting at his desk. He sighed in relief. "You scared me," he said. "I thought you were gone."

She stood and walked around to clasp his hand in quiet apology. She wore only her tunic, and he ran his eyes over the long lines of her legs without shame. "You should never be allowed to wear breeches again," he said as he rubbed his thumb over her palm. "Not when you're with me."

"And I prefer you without a shirt," she said with a smile. "Between us we'll neatly share a wardrobe."

He laughed. "What were you doing down here anyway?"

She reached behind her, lifting the hem of her shirt enticingly. He stretched his free hand out to caress the newly revealed skin, and she swatted him away blindly. "You'll tire yourself," she said.

"I know I'm not as young as I once was, but I don't need to be involved," he said, moving his fingers across the fabric of her smalls. "Well, not much of me. I just want to hear you say my name again."

"Cullen," she said forbiddingly.

"Yes," he said. "Though not exactly like that."

He stilled himself as best he could as she finally twisted back with something in her hand. It was the story he'd given her, but turned to the final page, the final flower pressed to the formerly empty space at the bottom. Above it, written in Cassandra's tidy script, he read:

_The princess heard the call of the knight, whose spirit was as pure and true as the world she'd longed to create. She returned to find it perfect and safe in his hands. And she loved him there all the days of her life, for they were never parted again._


	22. The End

Six months later, he was traveling the breadth of Ferelden again with a quiet Seeker at his side. They spoke rarely, living in each others' quiet spaces, but when they did speak it was always love.

Cullen hadn't thought it possible to be so happy.

They both still lived at Skyhold, in his room that no longer had a broken roof. Cassandra hadn't liked the cold, and once she'd pointed out that it would be easier to sleep naked with a roof, he'd practically thatched the thing himself. She'd agreed he could leave a window to the stars, and he loved to watch them with her wrapped in his arms.

The keep was no less crowded and no less loud, but Cassandra wanted to stay with her Inquisition, and he wanted to stay with her. Ellana granted them whatever time he needed to be away, when it was possible. They traveled more and more, in these days of peace.

The business of the Inquisition always followed them, though, and there were times on their journeys when Cassandra watched him scribble orders and consult maps for hours. She never complained, and he stopped apologizing after she scolded him enough times. While his captains were better prepared, and Ellana never put herself in charge again, there were always things only a Commander could do. Secretly he enjoyed the work, now that it was less consuming, and he knew he was better at it than he ever would have been at farming.

She, too, had her duties, though much of them were accomplished through travel. They found mages who were afraid and brought them assurance. They rooted out Templars who'd lost their way and tried to help them. They came across pockets of the old Seekers now and then, enacting their own small helps where they could. He never felt easy with them, but Cassandra did the talking, and he entertained whatever children that were part of that group's family. Sometimes he saw her watching him with a speculative eye, and he knew without words they would have their own children someday, if the Maker willed it. Even if He didn't. They both knew children who had nowhere else to go.

But today there was no work. He'd led them to a familiar creek, and she'd laughed when he'd brought out Varric's new compendium of _Swords and Shields_. The dwarf had finished the story just that month as a special favor for them both. Even with Cullen's embarrassing image across the cover, he'd been grateful to the man. He and Cassandra were taking turns reading it to each other, though somehow he almost always ended up reading the saucier parts. He suspected she liked his persistent blush, even though they'd re-enacted more of the scenes than he'd thought possible on his first read.

The sister had murdered the Viscount, and Cullen more pleased with that than he would ever admit.

Today, though, she stopped him. "I'd like to simply sit with you," she said. "Talk."

He nodded agreeably and set the volume aside so she could tuck under his arm. He leaned back against the tree behind them. "You know," he said, "this was the place I first started thinking about you. Inappropriately, I mean."

"Really? What did I do to elicit that?"

"It wasn't you, exactly, it was that damned book," he said. "I read it, and I thought of you reading it, and I wondered, well, what you thought of when you were."

"I thought of you, of course," she said.

He laughed. "While that's tremendously good for my ego, I'm glad I didn't know that at the time. I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off of you."

She eyed the hand that was caressing her arm, brushing over her breast with every few strokes. "Yes, I can see that," she said. She smiled. "Wouldn't you have been worried about incurring Iron Bull's wrath?"

He growled, but there was little heat behind it. She'd never let him forget the interest he'd imagined, nor had Iron Bull, and they tortured him with it whenever they had the inclination to. Only the fact that she always responded to his overtures more heatedly in the face of his half-faked jealousy kept him from dueling the qunari daily. Well, that and Ellana's disapproving eye. She said it was bad for morale to have soldiers dueling over their loves. Cullen understood, and privately thought it would also start a queue at the sparring ring for Dorian's favor, who was much too popular for his own good.

Speaking of the Inquisitor. "You realize that Ellana has been planning a secret wedding for us?" he asked.

"Yes, she had me fitted for a gown under the pretense of finding formal wear for future balls," said Cassandra. "I believe her plan is to simply surprise us into our vows." She twisted her head to look at him. "She'll receive only encouragement from your sisters."

"I know," he said, shaking his head. Any irritation faded under the glow of anticipation. This journey was to Honnleath, to home, where they would help with the harvest before packing his family up for a winter in Skyhold. He thought they were utter fools for wanting to winter in the Frostbacks, but he was glad they would be fools that were close at hand. "I miss them."

"As do I. And Mia has promised to teach me to be more womanly," she said.

"Don't you dare," he said. "I like you just the way you are."

His arms tightened around her, and she leaned against him more fully. Cullen sighed and sank into contentment. The river laughed and sang in front of them, the horses swished their tails in time with his heartbeat, and the leaves turning overhead lent the landscape an air of chill that belied the beauty of the day. The world was changing but finally, for once, he was staying the true inside of it. He was his own fixed point of joy.

When he laughed lightly, she squeezed his hand. "What is so amusing?"

"I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to make this place worthy of another flower," he said. He'd earned several over the last months, but that was no reason to end the challenge.

He almost felt her roll her eyes. "You're insatiable. I sometimes wonder if you've simply carried all the ardor of your sixteen year-old self with you all of these years, waiting to unleash it."

"Is that a complaint?" he asked, but there was no insecurity in it. Not anymore. He kissed the tip of her ear, then the lobe, then down her neck. "I can stop."

In response, she slid out from under him and straddled his lap with all of the speed she showed in the ring. He grinned as she looked down on him imperiously. He never got tired of the light of laughter that lived in the back of her eyes. The soldiers under his command teased him about his ever-present smiles, but her happiness was hidden away for him alone. Without being prompted, he reached down and tugged his shirt over his head. The bark of the tree was rough against his back, but he would take more discomfort than that to feel the shiver of her gaze. "Better?"

"Marginally," she said. She traced the planes of his stomach with her hands and chuckled when he hissed at a teasing dip of her fingers. "You began this."

"And you wanted to talk," he said.

"We can still talk," she said, moving her fingers up to his collarbone. He snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her more flush against his hips. She didn't stop her tracings. "Did you dream of me here?"

"No," he said. "I wasn't wise enough yet." He had to stop thinking about his dreams, though, or the teasing really would become unbearable. "So, you never told me. Why flowers?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. She rolled her hips, once, and he gripped her more tightly.

Cullen tried to find his train of thought. "Why collect flowers to remind yourself of me? I'm not very flower-like," he said. He punctuated his statement by closing his mouth over the join of her neck and shoulder. He kissed her lightly, then harder, and when she moaned and moved her hand up into his hair, a sure sign she was sliding down the path of desire he craved, he finished by sucking on her skin hard enough to leave a mark.

"Hey!" she said, swatting him when he pulled back with a smile. "People will see that."

"Good," he said. "I don't want anyone to get the impression you're available for dinner on this trip."

"Perhaps I should be marking you, then," she said. "Unless you wish for the shopkeepers to be equally attentive to you as before?"

He laughed and presented his own neck for her perusal, and she spent several minutes exploring him before leaving a matching bruise. By the end of her attentions, he'd unworked the front of her breeches. He stroked over the front of her smalls with his finger after she leaned back. She shuddered and bit her lip, but she never took his eyes off of his. He increased the pressure, and she breathed in sharply.

"Are you ready?" he asked. She only nodded, and he smiled. "What do you want?"

"You," she said, and reached down to the ties of his own pants. He watched her deft fingers reach past the fabric until they disappeared to touch him into full hardness. Now it was his turn to shudder, but he wasn't ready to give himself over yet.

"Are you sure that's what you want? Not this?" he asked, dipping a finger past the fabric and across the place that made her moan and press into him. "Or this?" He kissed her newly parted lips and dipped his tongue inside her mouth, swirling it in a way that left no doubt as to what he intended.

When she took her mouth back, her eyes were heavy and lidded. She pushed the material of his pants and smalls away until he was free under the dappled warmth of the sunlight. He groaned as he watched her hand slide over him. "You, Cullen. Here and now and always," she said.

"Then I'm yours, love," he said. "For all the days you'll have me. And I hope you'll have me often," he added with a grin.

It was a sign of her want that she didn't even chastise him. Instead she drew away her clothing and paused over him, wet and hot. He held his breath as he waited, torn between watching her eyes for her pleasure or his cock as it vanished inside of her. In the end she made the choice for him, as her own eyes dipped down to watch them join.

No matter how many times he entered her, it always thrilled him to feel her surround him.

"I love you," she said quietly.

He pulled her down for another kiss, but this time he made it soft and sweet. He poured everything he felt, everything he was, into it. Under this open sky, away from the world and its noise and its needs, he was nothing but hers. "I love you, too," he said when they parted.

She smiled, a beautiful sight, but the most beautiful of all was when she came undone over him, calling and shuddering as he drove himself inside of her to his own joy.

* * *

"Thank you," he said when it was over. "For indulging me."

"I should always be thanked for so pleasant a task," she said. Her clothes were rearranged neatly, and the only sign of the pleasure he'd given her was the high color still unfaded on her cheeks. They were stretched out on the grass now, side by side, kissing and touching and talking as though they had all day.

They didn't, of course. They couldn't sleep here and couldn't even rest much longer, not when they'd promised Mia their arrival in two days time, but there was time enough for this.

"Besides," she added, "I am making up for many, many years of frustration. You were completely unaware of how stimulating you were. Are. The Seekers who went to Kirkwall the first time could not stop speaking of you on their return. And not only about your mental state."

He barked a laugh. "Glad to know I made an impression," he said. He looked down at her. "Did you fall in love with me at first sight?" His voice was teasing, but he'd always wondered. They'd stepped lightly around the beginnings of her love, when he was still so broken and she was just learning to be sad. They hadn't wanted to relive any more pain. But this was the place of peace, and the place where everything had begun for him, and it was the right time to ask.

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I knew of you, of course, because of your history and because it was my duty to know all of the Templars in positions of power. And you are very handsome, which was noticeable to anyone with eyes."

He smiled. "Yes, tell me more about how handsome I am," he said.

She snorted. "You hardly need the reminder," she said. "But I'd been prepared for your looks by the discussions of the other Seekers, and while I judged you were a good man in a situation that you had been unable to control, that was true of many Templars at the time."

"Then when was it?"

"Leliana noticed that you were gone for an hour each afternoon. Not improperly, nothing outside of your responsibilities, but she did not have the resources to determine what it was you were doing. It could have been a romance. It could have been lyrium-taking. It may have simply been a nap," she said. "While we did not expect subversion or treason, it's always good to know what the Knight-Commander is up to. I volunteered to find out."

"I was praying," he said, surprised. "I wasn't aware it was ever a concern."

"It wasn't, once I knew. I never told Leliana the specifics, and she never pressed. I expect because she understood that I had feelings for you that went beyond my duties," she said matter-of-factly.

"So you loved me because I was devout," he said. He frowned. "For some reason that seems even more sinful than just lust. Like that Sebastian fellow who was always trying to talk Hawke into joining him in chaste Chantry love."

She smiled. "No, not exactly," she said. She closed her eyes. "You will laugh at me."

"Never."

Cassandra took a breath. "It is difficult to describe. Kirkwall was a bleak place, and the Gallows worst of all. The stones themselves had taken on the despair that lived inside of them, and the failure of the Seekers to sense it weighed heavily on me. And you were a good man, but the damage that had been done to the place might never be healed. Certainly not by only one good man. And you had little help," she said. "But when I saw you in the garden, praying among the flowers, that was something new. Something hopeful. You were burdened but you weren't despaired. You still believed, after everything, that the Maker would find perfection to bring to that place."

Had he felt that way? He only remembered feeling desperate and lost and very alone.

"So you were devout, but it was more than that. You were true. You were unyielding. And you were so very real that everyone would one day bow to your vision and become the good that you gave them," she said. "It was like watching the creation of the world." She flushed. "That is melodramatic. But perhaps it is also true. From that day, you were the person I felt in my heart even when you were nowhere near me. I could not turn aside."

"How could I ever laugh at that?" he asked softly. "I only wish I'd been whole enough to understand what you offered to me."

"I knew that you weren't. And truthfully, knowing of your history with both Amell and Hawke, I did not think I would be a woman who appealed to you. You never looked at me as though I would be. And when Ellana entered your heart, it seemed certain," she said ruefully.

"Don't remind me of that," he said. "I'd much rather hear about how I conquered yours with only a prayer."

She smiled. "You asked me why the flowers. It was that. You are no flower, but you could still kneel among them as though you belonged. And flowers, no matter where they find root, are so easily happy, never disappointed or wanting more for themselves than what they are given. When you were there you seemed the same. You'd rooted in Kirkwall, a place of pain, but you could still be good. At peace. It was how I felt with you, as well," she said. "In the early days of the Inquisition, after the conclave, after the Divine… your presence was my happiness."

He kissed her slowly, then took her hand in his own and rolled back to stare at the sky. "Should we tell the Inquisitor that we're already married?" Someday they would invite the world into the depth of their love, he knew. But he'd needed the certainty of her, steady and quiet and only his. When he'd asked her on a road that meant nothing, near a village that was no different from any other, she'd given herself with a willing and ready heart. And he loved her for that more than anything.

Cassandra laughed. "She would never forgive us," she said. "Let her find happiness in her planning. And when she surprises us with our wedding, I will be happy to take my vows again, with you. I think the Maker will allow us that small deceit."

* * *

They rode through the gate of his home steading with wide eyes. The land was covered in crops, ripe and ready to be plucked from their stalks and vines for the storehouses and markets. Though the days were turning, the farm was still full of life. When they swung off of their horses and into his family's eager embrace, he laughed as Cassandra tried to find arms enough to hold them all. They were ready to love her as much as they loved him, and he was glad.

Mia swept them all into the house and plied them with food and drink until they were warm and fuzzed. The children went to bed reluctantly, Peter took Deanna home in his cart - the long way, if Cullen was any judge - and then it was only the siblings and their lovers curled up by the fire.

His sisters smirked at every loving look he gave Cassandra, every brush of her hand against his, but he didn't mind. Better for them to triumph in his happiness than worry in his despair. When Mia asked if they would like rooms in the main or the guest house, he smiled. "The guest house, if you please. But only one room," he said. He kissed the top of Cassandra's head, and she sighed contentedly. "And if you have any flowers for the windowsill, they would be most welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I'm always happy to talk about writing, Cullen, Cassandra or some combination of all three, so drop me a line if you want!


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